


Under the Sky

by MdeCarabas



Series: Oh, The Places You'll Go! [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexism, Transphobia, background Carolina/York, background Church/Tex - Freeform, background Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MdeCarabas/pseuds/MdeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set six months after the events of OTPYG. Tucker and Wash struggle to get their act together just in time for everything to go to hell around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

If Tucker had to pinpoint a moment in time when everything first began to go to hell around them, he would probably have to say that the whole thing started with Church's wedding.

"You're getting _what?_ " Tucker asks. He takes the phone away from his ear to look at in disbelief, as if staring at it will somehow make what Church said make any sense, "Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah, Tucker," Church says, "I'm fucking serious. Now get your ass over to City Hall so we can get a witness for this bullshit. I'm ready to get started on my honeymoon already."

"Uh..." Tucker says. Suspicion grabs hold of him and shakes him by the head. "Wait, does Tex know about this?""

His comment is met with pure silence for a moment, which is so out of character that Tucker actually wonders if Church hung up on him. " _Yes_ , Tucker," Church says icily, "Tex knows she's getting married today."

"Oh," Tucker says, "Dude, I'm just checking."

"You know, it's not too late to make Caboose my best man instead."

Tucker snorts. He's pretty sure that wouldn't be punishing _him_. But whatever, Church can believe that he's all torn up about it if he wants to, but it's not like Tucker's gonna miss any of those bullshit best man duties like—"

"Wait," Tucker says with dawning horror, “Wait, you're not gonna let me have a bachelor party for you, are you?" He smacks his hand against his forehead, genuinely upset this time. "You are _such_ a dick! You know how much I was looking forward to it!"

Church scoffs. "Well, sorry to ruin your big night, Tucker, but I don't give a damn about seeing a bunch of naked women giving people lap dances the night before my wedding. You can save that shit for your own."

"Uh huh," Tucker says, because he doesn't want to touch that line with a ten foot pole, "So Tex is standing right behind you, isn't she?"

"Yes," Church says, "Yes, she is."

"Riiight," Tucker says, "So what time do I have to be there anyway?"

"We just got our ticket," Church tells him, "So if you're not here in the next thirty minutes, we're doing this without you."

"Got it," Tucker tells him, then hangs up on him without another word, immediately gathering up his things and heading over to Kimball's office. "I've gotta leave early," he tells her after she calls him in, "It's kind of an emergency."

"Is everything alright?" she asks in concern.

"Yeah, it's cool," Tucker says, "Its just a family thing, y'know? Don't worry, I'll stay late tomorrow to finish things up."

Kimball nods. "That's fine.

He figured it would be. Kimball is the coolest, most understanding boss that Tucker's ever had. She actually gives a shit about her employees and she's never once given him flack for having to run over to Junior's school in the middle of a work day because he's gotten into another fight. It’s kind of awesome. All he has to do is mention the word “family” and he’s good to go.

“Thanks Kimball,” he tells her with a smile. He gives her a wave on the way out the door, strolling past the sea of cubicles and out of the building without missing a beat or stopping to say goodbye to anybody.

He gets there with fifteen minutes to spare.

He has to ask directions to the waiting room, but that’s no problem, because he hears the sound of Caboose being an asshole long before he hits the hall.

“—buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’”

Tucker misses Church’s no doubt incredibly chill response, but they’ve been friends long enough that he can imagine how it goes. What really interests him, however, is how Tex responded to it—which is with laughter, apparently, Tucker sees as soon as he walks through the door. He joins her in enjoying the view.

After a moment, he breaks the silence.

“Sooo,” Tucker begins, “Getting married, huh?”

“Yep,” she replies.

“Are you sure you wanna be doing this?”

Church breaks away from Caboose long enough to get on Tucker’s case. “Hey, don’t you try talking her out of this!” he snaps, “It took me five years to get her to say yes.”

“Uh huh,” Tucker says. He looks at Tex out of the corner of his eyes. “So did he pay you or trick you or what?”

Tex reaches into her pocket and quickly shows him a stack of hundreds before squirreling it away again. “He called it an engagement present,” she says with a smirk, “And he said I get to pawn the ring if we break it off.”

Tucker scoffs. “What, like you needed permission for that?”

Her smirk turns into an honest grin, one they share as time goes by and they watch Caboose and Church do their thing. Because of that, it takes him awhile to realize that someone is missing.

He looks around for a glimpse of bright red hair, but aside from a young teenage girl with a lot of piercings, there's none to be found in the vicinity. '"Wait," he says, "What about Carolina? When's she going to get here?"

Church stiffens.

Tex gives Tucker a warning look, eyes narrowing in a way that promises pain for him if he doesn't shut the hell up. "What?" Tucker says in surprise, "What is it? What did I say?"

Church gives him a baleful look. " _Carolina_ decided that she wasn't gonna come today."

"What?" Tucker says dumbly. Carolina not coming to her own brother's wedding? It's so incomprehensible that for a second Tucker doesn't understand what he means. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Apparently she isn't thrilled about Tex being her future sister-in-law," Church explains. He snorts derisively, lips curving down into a bitter scowl that does nothing to disguise the hurt he's feeling.

Tucker can't respond to that. He wouldn't know where to begin, to be honest. He knew that Carolina hated Tex, but he had no idea that she hated her _this_ much, enough to skip out on her only brother's wedding day. It's kind of fucked up.

“Oh, whatever,” Church fumes, “Like I fucking care.” He jumps up from his seat like the hounds of hell are after him and starts pacing angrily in front of them both, going back and forth with jerky motions that clearly give away how upset he is.

Tucker and Tex exchange glances when he isn't looking. He motions toward Church with a questioning look, but she shakes her head in a firm no, silently telling Tucker that it would be best if he let it pass.

“Number 23?”

Church freezes, looking caught out and hurt, and for all the bickering they do, everyone is still quick to come to his aid. “They’re coming,” Tucker says quickly, as Tex and Caboose hurries over to Church's side, "We just need a sec, okay?”

"Leave me alone," he hears Church hiss at Tex, then says, "No, I don't want a fucking hot dog in a blanket," which could only be aimed at Caboose. Tucker shakes his head at both of them and decides to go over there and do some best-broing before anybody pisses Church off further.

“Hey,” Tucker says as he walks up to him, “You want me to call her up and yell at her?”

Church snorts. “What do you think that’s gonna do?”

“Okay,” Tucker says, because Church kinda has a point. Carolina has never cared about what anybody thinks when it comes to Tex. Well, except for her father. And...wait. There’s one more person. “Want me to get Junior to guilt trip her instead?”

Church pauses long enough to convince Tucker he’s thinking about it, but instead of saying yes like Tucker thought he would, he shakes his head and repeats stubbornly, “Who the fuck cares if she shows up?”

“Okay,” Tucker says again, clapping Church on the shoulder, “Then are you ready to get married up in here?”

Church straightens his back, looking a little more confident than he did before. “Yeah, you know what, Tucker?” he says, “I fucking am.”

“Then let’s get this thing started.”

* * *

The ceremony itself is short and sweet, with the judge giving the Dearly Beloved speech as soon as everyone settles in. The vows, though, have to be the funniest part of the whole ceremony—there's just something about Tex promising to honor and obey has Tucker struggling not to laugh.

But still, he's never seen Tex smile the way she does when the two of them finally say "I do." He thinks if Carolina were there, she wouldn't have any doubts anymore, not after seeing the looks on their faces. It just sucks that she was too stubborn to come.

Afterwards, they all go out for a bite to eat at the nearest restaurant that they can find. The food winds up sucking, but that’s okay, because all of them are still riding the high from the ceremony. They’re almost giddy from the thrill of it.

As such, it takes the whole meal for Tucker to notice that one little detail that escaped him completely. “So wait,” he says as he turns to Tex, “Why didn't you invite anyone to the wedding?"

Church snorts. "She _did_."

Tucker's eyes widen dramatically. Holy shit, how many of their friends turned them down for today? Because this is getting to be totally fucked up.

"She's talking about you two assholes, dipshit," Church says. When Tucker turns to look at him in surprise, he adds, "What, did you think _I_ invited you? Think again. I didn't want anyone to come today."

Caboose smiles knowingly. "Except me, right?"

" _Especially_ not you."

Caboose shakes his head, smiling widening in a way that makes Church's jaw clench tight in irritation. "Oh, Church, you are such a kidder," he says, blissfully unaware of Church's reaction.

Tex jerks her head in Church's direction. "I only invited you two because I knew he'd cry if we didn't invite anybody like we originally planned," she explains with a snort, "And I didn't want any whining on my wedding day."

"Too late for that!" Tucker cracks.

Caboose already sobbed through the entire ceremony. It was hard to get him to stop in the end, because all he could do was cry about how Church was never gonna be his roommate again. It was kind of sad. If by sad you mean creepy and weird. Regardless, there was definitely more than enough tears for everyone’s comfort in the end. Even the judge seemed tired of it.

“Nobody was crying,” Caboose insists, “I just had a bug in my eye.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense, you idiot,” Tucker tells him.

Caboose gives him the evil eye. Oddly enough, so does Church, which frankly fills Tucker with surprise--but then, Church gets weirdly protective of Caboose sometimes and there's never any telling when it's going to happen.

“Whatever” Tucker grumbles, “I’m sorry, okay? So you can stop staring at me like I killed your dog.”

Caboose gasps.

Church rolls his eyes and generally looks all around aggrieved. “That was hypothetical,” he tells Caboose, “You learned that word already, remember? It means it’s never gonna fucking happen.”

“I know,” Caboose says thickly, “Tucker would never kill Freckles. Freckles is too big and bitey.” But still he pauses, looking sad and tragic, acting like the thought of his dog dying is the end of the world. “I think I have another bug in my eye.”

Everyone looks at him in disbelief, shaking their heads as he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, sobbing all the way.

“Dude,” Tucker says, “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Church replies, “The only thing I give a shit about is whether or not Tex is gonna let me get to third base tonight.

Tex pretends to consider it for a moment. “Eh, it’s still up for debate.”

Tucker leans back in his chair and laughs. “I’m surprised you two are even still here,” he says honestly, “I would’ve been buying some hotel room by now and banging on every piece of furniture in it.”

“You know what, Tucker?” Church says, “You’re right.”

Tucker watches as Church and Tex stand up and quickly collect their things. Something about that strikes him as odd, and it’s only when he notices a waiter walking by with a small faux-leather book that he realizes they were gonna leave him with the check.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?" Tucker exclaims.

Church smirks as he puts on his jacket. "Well, Tucker,” he drawls in that stupid way that makes him sound like his father, “Just consider it a wedding present."

"Who the fuck said I was gonna give you one in the first place?”

“That’s why we’re insisting,” Tex says with a dangerous look in her eye, and yeah, he knows that she wouldn’t hurt him over something like that, but something about it still makes him shiver in his shoes.

“Okay, whatever,” Tucker says nervously, “It’s not like I’m not good for it."

Church leans over to clap him on the shoulder. "See, that's what I like about you, Tucker," he says with a shit-eating grin, "Your unending generosity."

Tucker gives him the finger and scowls when they laugh. "Get out of my face," he grumbles only somewhat earnestly, all the while hiding his own smile from sight, “I don’t wanna see you assholes anymore.”

He waits until they’re at the door to the restaurant before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

 _Wtf?_ he texts.

 _Stay out of it,_ comes the reply.

 _No, seriously, what the fuck?_ he types out irritably, anger rising with every letter, enough so that he doesn’t shorten every other word like he’s prone to do, _Do you have any idea how upset he was? He almost didn't get married at all!_

He waits and waits for another response, but Carolina never texts him back, something that leaves Tucker fighting the urge to throw his phone clear across the room. But instead of doing that, instead of ruining something of his own, he decides to ruin somebody else for a change.

_I never thought you’d actually hurt him on purpose._

And with that, Tucker slips his phone back into his pocket, no longer interested in anything she has to say.

* * *

Tucker’s phone rings just as he’s hopping into his car. It’s not Carolina--he can tell that by the ringtone--but it still takes a second for his brain to realize it’s North calling him and not her. “Hey,” he says, “What’s up? You enjoying your vacation?”

“With five kids to take care of?” North points out wrily.

“Heh,” Tucker says, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry to bug you when you’re at work, but Junior’s been begging me to take him home, so…”

“Wait, what?” Tucker says, “Seriously? No way! He was looking forward to this sleepover all week!” It’s all he would talk about for days. There’s no way he would freak out and get homesick on the very first night. “Maybe I could talk to him and calm him down?”

“I don’t exactly think that would work…”

“What? Why not?”

North sighs. “I’ll explain when you get here.”

“Okay, sure,” Tucker says in confusion, “I’ll be right there.”

He puts his phone down and starts up his car, all the while wondering what could have possibly been so bad to freak Junior out that much. Nothing simple, that’s for sure, but at the same time Tucker can’t picture anything big happening with North around.

By the time he gets to North's house, he’s thoroughly curious about what went on. He thinks about it as he parks in the driveway and then walks up the path to the doorway. What could've possibly happened that North would only talk about it in person?

He shrugs and knocks twice on the door.

“Hey, North!” Tucker says when it opens, “What’s up?”

North is just about to answer when Junior stomps past them on his way to the car, a stormy expression on his face that can only mean bad things for Tucker’s afternoon.

"Whoa!" Tucker says, "What happened?"

North winces a little, rubbing his forehead like he’s had a headache that hasn’t quit for years—weary and a bit resigned, but pained and troubled nonetheless. “He kinda got into an argument with some of Theta’s new friends.”

“What kind of argument?” Tucker asks warily.

“The kind with fists,” North replies, “I left them alone in the backyard for a minute and when I came back Junior was pounding them to the ground. I broke them up, but none of them would say what happened.”

Tucker frowns in surprise. “Not even Theta?”

“Not even Theta,” North replies, looking surprised to hear the words coming out his own mouth. It's almost as though he’s never had to deal with that before. Well, maybe he hasn't. Luckily for them both, Tucker has a lot more experience with this kind of thing.

“I’ll get it out of Junior tonight,” Tucker tells him, “And I’ll call you up if you wanna know.”

North looks grateful for the assistance. “Would you?”

“Sure,” Tucker says, “Should be easy. Junior never keeps anything from me for long.” For now, anyway, though with the way things are going lately that’s probably going to change in a year or two.

"Thanks, Tucker. Good luck getting it out of him."

"I won't need it," Tucker assures him, "But thanks anyway."

And with that and and a wave he turns around, walking toward the car where Junior is sulking. They say nothing as they climb inside, which honestly worries Tucker a little because Junior usually gets loud when he’s upset.

"So,” Tucker says as he puts the key in the ignition, “Are you gonna tell me what happened back there or what?"

Junior mulishly says nothing.

"Okay," Tucker says as he takes the key out again, "Or we could just sit here. That's cool too. So do you wanna guess what happened with Church and Tex today? Because I gotta tell you, I did not see that coming—"

"They were picking on Theta," Junior bursts out angrily.

Tucker startles. That's the last thing he expected Junior to say. "Wait, his friends were?" he asks, slightly confused.

" _Yeah!_ " Junior says. He stares out the window with a thunderous expression on his face. "They said he was acting like a little kid because he didn't want to sneak out of the house with them. And then Theta said he wasn't a little kid, but then Gary said he was because he was friends with me!"

And eleven year olds don't usually have nine year olds as their best friend. Tucker's definitely beginning to see what the problem is. "So that's when you hit 'em," he says knowingly.

Junior jerks his head in a nod.

"Okay, but you know you can't do that, right?" Tucker says even though he kinda sees where Junior is coming from. Still, that kind of thinking is what leads to Junior being suspended from school for fighting.

Junior crosses his arms mutinously. “You said I should always stick up for my friends,” he reminds Tucker, giving him an accusatory look like Tucker was caught lying to him or something,

“Well, yeah, but…”

“ _And_ you said I shouldn’t let assholes push me around!"

That’s true, he _did_ say that, but there’s no way Tucker’s letting a nine year old win this conversation. “I also said you shouldn’t be fighting with the other kids, didn’t I?” he points out.

Junior shakes his head ferociously. “No!” he exclaims, “You told me I shouldn’t be fighting at _school_.”

“I—”

Tucker frowns. He can’t remember if he phrased it that way or not, but if Junior remembers it that way then he probably did.

“Just don’t fight, okay?” he says, “It’s only gonna get you in major trouble.”

Junior refuses to answer or even look at him. With a sigh, Tucker starts the car up, hoping that some of what he said got through.

By the time they get home, Junior’s quietness has fully transformed into the silent treatment, though Tucker has no clue what he said to earn himself that kind of response. Regardless, nothing he does can bring Junior out of his mood and the minute they get home Junior practically throws himself out of the car in an effort to get away from him. He barely even waits for Tucker to open the door. Instead, he flies through on his way to his room, darting past his dad like he doesn’t want to be around him. Tucker follows him through, pausing to lock up behind them.

As such, he doesn’t immediately notice that they have a guest.

“Hi, Grif,” he hears Junior say.

“Grif?” Tucker says aloud. He makes a face in confusion, wondering if Junior called him up on the phone and feeling vaguely put out about the possibility. No problem at all, really, just his son being a total traitor and preferring someone else to his dad.

He walks into the living room fully prepared to find Junior sulking on the couch while he talks to Grif about his day, but nothing prepares him for the sight of the other man sitting there in person.

“What the fuck are you doing in my living room?” Tucker asks. He throws his keys onto the coffee table blindly, never taking his eyes off Grif, “And why are you eating my leftovers, dickweed?”

Grif shoves a fork full of pork fried rice in his mouth even as he glares at Tucker."I can’t help it,” he says defensively, “I’m a stress eater!”

Tucker snorts. “And how many times a day are you stressed?”

Grif’s glare intensifies. With a scowl, he takes his fork and jabs it spitefully back in the container, digging with a gusto that doesn’t quite hide how upset he really is. “So what’s up?” Tucker asks, “Why are you so stressed, anyway?”

Grif shoves a huge forkful of food in his mouth.

“Oh, okay,” Tucker says with a huge smirk on his face. Clearly this whole thing is a lot more serious than he first thought. Or a whole lot more embarrassing. Or, heh, maybe even both. “Junior, why don’t you go hang out in your room?”

Junior gives him a baleful look.

“I wasn’t asking, dude,” Tucker tells him, allowing his face to harden in warning. For a second, Junior’s eyes widen in response, but soon enough that antagonistic look is back. Despite that, Junior goes stomping off to his room without a fuss, which means Tucker doesn’t have to make a scene.

As soon as Tucker’s sure Junior’s gone, he flops down next to Grif on the couch. “So what do you have to be stressed out about anyway?” he asks flippantly, “Did Simmons break up with you or something?”

Grif twitches.

“Wait, what?” Tucker says in shock, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Grif replies.

Tucker looks at Dexter Grif’s grim face and tired looking eyes. “No,” he says in a muted voice, "You really don't." He thinks about it for a second, then does the only thing he can think of to make things okay again. "I'll get the beer. And the twinkies."

"I already ate them," Grif replies.

Tucker probably should have figured.

It takes two beers for Grif to finally ease up and tell him what happened between him and Simmons. “Some woman from work asked him out this afternoon,” Grif explains. He takes a large sip of beer as if he desperately needs it, “He said yes.”

Tucker hesitates. “But, uh, don’t you two have a thing?” he asks, though _thing_ isn’t the right word for whatever Grif and Simmons are. Nobody has ever understood it completely, but everyone thought that one way or another they’d be together forever.

Everybody but Simmons apparently.

Grif snorts.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Tucker points out. He frowns, reevaluating everything he’s known about them in the last fifteen years and wondering how he could have missed that. “Seriously, I thought you were married or something.”

“I told you to shut up about that!”

Tucker’s hands fly up defensively. “Whoa, did I hit a nerve?” he says, immediately feeling like a dick when the comment causes Grif’s face to scrunch up in visible pain. “Uh, sorry, dude. I just meant…”

“I know what you goddamn meant.”

For a couple of minutes, the only audible sound in the living room is the sound of beer being placed on the table following every sip from the can. Even Epsilon keeps quiet when he enters the room, forgoing his usual greeting to Tucker.

“So who asked him out anyway?” Tucker says, sounding unusually subdued even to his own ears. He hesitates before asking his next question, not exactly eager to piss Grif off further, but curious enough to want to know.“Was it Jensen?”

Grif scoffs. “And ruin that thing she’s got going on with Andersmith?”

Tucker startles in his chair. “Wait, what?”

Grif ignores him in favor of getting up from his seat. “Tell me you have more leftovers somewhere,” he grumbles on his way to the kitchen.

Tucker quickly scrambles to follow, more to protect his pantry than anything else. "The only leftovers I have left are Junior's," he tells Grif, "And he's gonna need something to eat tonight while Wash and I are on our date."

The refrigerator door opens and promptly slams shut again. Tucker winces at the sound of it, reluctantly admitting to himself that he maybe shouldn’t have brought up dates or dating for a few more days. Or until Grif gets over it, whatever.

Tucker pushes Grif aside and opens up the freezer, pulling out a pack of hotdogs as a peace offering. “You can have some of these,” Tucker offers, “I’ll even cook them for you so you don’t have to eat them cold.”

“Deal,” Grif says.

He throws himself down at the kitchen table, just watching Tucker as he fills a pot with water and dumps half the franks inside.

Grif clears his throat pointedly.

“Seriously, dude?” Tucker exclaims, “How many of these are you planning on eating?” But despite his complaints, Tucker doesn’t hesitate to put a couple more in, reasoning with himself that he could always buy more on the way home from work tomorrow.

"I told you, I'm a—"

"Stress eater. Yeah, I know."

Silence falls over them, comfortable and companionable, and soon the only noise in the room is the sound of the water boiling in the pot. When Grif moves toward the pantry, Tucker takes it as his cue to talk.

“Okay, look,” Tucker begins, “It’s cool with me if you wanna stick around here and eat all my food while I’m out with Wash, but you’ve gotta tell me if you’re staying or not so I know whether to call Sheila up and cancel.”

Grif makes a face. “I’m not watching your kid for you.”

“Yeah, well _I’m_ not paying Sheila to babysit two people instead of one!”

"Shut up, Tucker. I don't need to be babysat."

"People who try to eat a whole pack of hotdogs in one sitting definitely need to be watched," Tucker says, "Besides, if you stay it'll mean you get to drink a bunch of beer you don’t have to pay for _and_ you don't have to walk home tonight."

Grif looks like that only just occurred to him.

"So are you staying or what?" Tucker asks.

Grif hems and haws over it for a second, but eventually his own laziness wins out over anything else. "Fine," Grif says petulantly, "But I'm not cleaning up any messes if he wets the bed or blows chunks over everything."

Tucker rolls his eyes. "Junior hasn't wet the bed in years."

"I notice you didn't say anything about him throwing up."

Grif’s going through some shit right now, which is the only reason that Tucker doesn’t act like a douchebag and do anything like smirk evilly. "Relax,” he says instead, “Just don't have him eat any candy or junk food and he should be fine tonight."

“He better be!” Grif replies.

Tucker raises his eyes skyward and fights the urge to roll them again. He never thought Grif was the type to be overdramatic--failing any bat-related incidents--but here he is acting like he’s never babysat before when Tucker knows for a fact that he raised his own sister.

Sometimes his friends are so incredibly stupid that Tucker doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Whatever, it’ll be fine,” Tucker says, “But I have to go get ready for my thing with Wash now, okay? So just eat your hotdogs and give Junior his leftovers if he pops his head out of his room for food.”

Grif ignores him, already digging through his pantry for bread.

“Did you hear me?”

Grif rolls his eyes. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your fucking kid.”

Tucker scoffs as he pushes away from the counter. “You think I talk to my kid this way?” he responds, “No fucking way. I respect him a whole lot more than I do you.”

Grif makes a rude gesture with the loaf of bread.

Tucker has to fight the urge to laugh along. Instead, he shakes his head as he moves toward the kitchen door, mind already shifting to a new topic as he tries to figure out how to tell North what’s going on with Theta and the others.

 _Junior kicked their asses bcuz the other kids were making fun of Theta_ , he winds up texting, _Bcuz Theta didn’t want 2 sneak out tonight. So watch out 4 that._

He waits a couple of minutes for the reply. Then he waits another few. Ten minutes later, when Tucker is finally convinced that North somehow didn’t get his message, his phone chimes with the sound of a new one.

 _Thanks,_ North finally answers, _I’ll make sure to keep an eye on them._

Tucker doesn’t think he’s imagining the chill in the reply. He doesn’t envy those kids at all; North may look like a big ol’ softy--and he _is_ \--but inside him is a steel core that nothing in the world can break.

He is a freelancer after all.

But oh well. With the exception of fielding calls from some angry parents and deciding how he’s going to punish Junior, Tucker’s part in this whole mess is done with. He can move on to less troubling things, like calling up Sheila and getting ready for his date with Wash, both of which he handles with only ten minutes to spare.

Or less, he thinks as he hears the knocking at the door. Leave it to Wash to be early the one day Tucker's running late.

He’s just about to head out the room when his phone beeps one last time. Thinking it’s North with news from the sleepover, Tucker is slow to reach for his phone. When he picks it up, however, it’s from someone completely unexpected.

_Got any clue why Carolina nearly bit my head off today?_

_Yeah_ , Tucker types back as he walks toward his bedroom door, _Church and Tex got married today_. He kicks it open, never looking up from his phone, and slowly makes his way to the living room.

There’s a long pause that somehow manages to be filled with questions and exclamation marks. Then, finally, York texts back, _They couldn’t have given us some time to get her used to it?_

 _She shouldn’t have needed time to get used to it,_ Tucker pecks out angrily, _She should’ve just come to the fucking wedding._

And with that, he turns his cell phone off for good, shoving it in his pocket with a sigh. If Junior or anybody else needs to get in touch with him, they can always call Washington’s phone instead. For now, Tucker is signing off.

After the long day he’s had, seeing Wash standing in his living room is almost something of a relief. He breathes a sigh--actually _breathes a sigh_ \--upon seeing him, as though only Wash can save him from how weird this day has been.

“Hey, Wash,” he says quietly.

Washington smiles. “Hi, Tucker. Are you ready to leave?”

“I really am,” Tucker says.

“Then let's go.”

* * *

They're just settling down for dinner when Washington ruins the perfectly good vibes that have been rising in Tucker since they began their date.

"My parents are coming up for a visit."

Tucker pauses with his knife in the air, reeling from the sudden terror coursing through his veins. "Okay," he says as he blindly avoids Wash's eyes, "So do you like the steak or not?"

"I haven't tried it yet," Wash says impatiently, "But Tucker—"

Tucker picks up his knife and puts it back down again, far too queasy to eat his meal."'Cause I went here with Church once and he said it was awesome," he interrupts, "But what the fuck does he know, right?"

"Tucker..."

"I just thought we could try it for ourselves—"

"Tucker!"

A waiter passing by gives them a warning look at the sheer volume of the exclamation, actually halting in the middle of the floor just to judge a couple he knows nothing about. Tucker shoots him a dark look in return, glaring at him until he goes on his way.

Washington sighs. "We're going to have to talk about this eventually."

"No, we're not," Tucker denies.

"I've already told them all about you," Washington tells him, powering stubbornly through Tucker's obstinacy, "They're going to want to meet you."

"But—"

Washington gazes at him, stopping Tucker's protestations mid-sentence. "You're the first real relationship I've had since Frank. _They're going to want to meet you."_

And when he says it like that Tucker has to give in.

"When are they coming?" he asks reluctantly.

Wash relaxes in the face of Tucker's defeat. "This Saturday," he says with a small smile, "They always come up the first week of August."

But that’s only two days away!

...wait.

"They _always_ come up?" Tucker repeats. He blinks rapidly, suspicion rising along with indignation. "Wait, you knew about this?" Tucker shoots him a betrayed look. "Dude, what the fuck!? Why didn't you warn me earlier?"

“I wasn’t sure if they were coming this year or not,” Washington says a little defensively. He shifts guiltily in his seat, avoiding Tucker's eyes for the moment. “They said they might go to my brother’s house instead."

Tucker stabs at his steak with his fork, picturing Washington’s face the entire while. Wash winces at the sight of it, sighing from deep within his lungs, weary and sad all at once. Something in Tucker’s chest twists at the sight.

“I’ve never met anyone’s parents before,” he blurts out.

Washington startles, nearly knocking his drink over. He catches himself almost absentmindedly, steadying the glass with the tips of his fingers, eyes never leaving Tucker’s face. “You—what?” he asks.

Tucker pointedly takes a bite.

“Tucker...”

He makes his chewing as obvious as possible, motioning to his mouth while making little noises that signify that his mouth is full. Washington—the _dick_ —patiently waits him out, holding his gaze as the minute passes by until there's absolutely nothing left to chew.

“Okay, look,” Tucker says when it becomes evident that he’s not getting out of this without an explanation, “My longest relationship was this chick back in high school who only got with me in the first place to get back at her ex-boyfriend.”

Washington stays very still and doesn’t say a thing.

“It lasted like nine months,” Tucker tells him. “We broke up a week before graduation.” He coughs to disguise how embarrassed he feels, then takes another bite of his steak even though it tastes like sawdust in his mouth.

Slowly, Wash’s hand inches across the table until it’s cupping warmly around Tucker’s own. "You don't have to worry," he says, "Nothing's going to happen."

Tucker seriously doubts that. "I say a lot of dumb shit," he points out, "I'm probably gonna offend them or something." And then Wash will be so pissed off at him that he'll dump Tucker on the spot.

"You'll be fine," Washington says. He gently squeezes Tucker's palm, so warm and welcoming that Tucker can almost forget that everything's probably going to be ruined in a week.

Almost.

"What about Junior?" Tucker asks.

Washington pauses, blinking hard. "What _about_ him?"

"Does he have to meet your family too?"

Washington hesitates. His hand wraps tight around Tucker's for a brief moment, crushing it in its grasp. "I'd like them to meet him," he says haltingly, "But if you don't think it's the right decision, that's fine."

Tucker thinks about what Junior meeting Wash's family would mean for them. It makes everything more serious in a way, because meeting your boyfriend's family is one thing, but introducing their family to yours means something else entirely— _especially_ when kids are involved.

Somehow it means more in the best possible way. Which isn't to say that it isn't completely _terrifying_ , to tell the truth.

Washington's eyes widen in alarm when Tucker starts choking on nothing but air. "Holy fuck, dude," Tucker wheezes as he grabs for his water, "We're officially dating."

"What did you think we were doing before?" Wash says flatly.

"Shut up," Tucker mutters, "You know what I mean."

"I really don't."

"It's like..." Tucker begins. He stops, frustrated, trying to figure out what he means. "It's like it's serious—not that it wasn't before! But yeah, it's like we're in it for the long haul. Like we're...you know what? Just fucking forget it."

"No, I think I understand," Washington says, "You're saying that it feels like we're taking another step in our relationship."

Tucker cringes at how cheesy it sounds. "You don't have to say it like _that_ ,” he mutters, fighting the urge to bang his head on the table in embarrassment.

Wash rolls his eyes. "How would you prefer I say it?”

“I don't know. Anyway but that?”

Washington cracks a smile that has Tucker's eyes narrowing automatically. "We could always say that we’re taking our relationship to a new level,” he suggests teasingly, a particular kind of mocking look in his eyes that’s only there when he’s fucking with Tucker.

Tucker throws his napkin at Wash. "Ugh, no! That's even worse!"

Washington starts laughing at the look of disgust on Tucker’s face. “You’re being melodramatic. You know it’s not that bad.”

Tucker sincerely begs to differ. “It fucking sucks, dude,” he proclaims, “It makes us sound like we’re getting married.”

Wash smiles wrily. “And neither of us would want that, would we?”

Tucker thinks about all the problems that suddenly seemed so far away the moment he saw Washington’s face. He thinks about how seeing him felt like breathing clean air for the first time all day, how touching him later felt like touching warmth for the first time all winter.

“Right,” Tucker says.

And for now, he’s telling the absolute truth.


	2. The Calm Before the Storm

Tucker wakes up the next morning to the smell of bacon. He smiles contentedly and stretches before getting up completely, groaning in satisfaction when his shoulders pop.

Wash stayed over the night before.

Not that it's strange or anything, of course. It just usually doesn't happen when Junior's still around. Most of the time the two of them try to stick to moments when Junior's away. Only rarely do they get mornings like these.

With a tired yawn, Tucker throws his sheets off and climbs out of bed, going over to his closet to rustle through it for whatever he's going to wear to work. Once showered and dressed, he makes his way through the halls until he comes across Wash and Junior sitting at the kitchen table enjoying their meals.

"It's about time you woke up," Wash says when he sees him.

"What can I say?" Tucker says breezily, "You really wore me out last night."

Junior wrinkles his nose but otherwise doesn't respond, which means Tucker is still getting the silent treatment from him. Just fucking great. What a way to start his morning. Luckily he has Wash there with a sympathetic smile and a cup of coffee made just for Tucker.

"Thanks, Wash," Tucker says. He resists the urge to kiss Wash good morning, choosing instead to bring his hand up to Washington's chest and press gently against his beating heart. The small touch is welcomed with a lazy smile and an intimate look that's only for them.

"Gross," Grif says suddenly.

Tucker rolls his eyes. Relatively speaking, of course. He turns to see Grif standing in the doorway, looking at them with an expression of disgust. “If you don’t want to see it," Tucker says, "You can always leave."

Grif scoffs. “What, and miss out on breakfast?”

"Figures," Tucker mutters under his breath. He steals a piece of bacon off Washington's plate and munches on it. "Too bad we can’t stay to eat. I still have to take you home so that you can get dressed before I drive us to work."

Grif groans in disappointment.

"He can walk home," Washington points out, "Doesn't he live a few blocks away?" Tucker takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs. More like ten, though for Grif it might as well be a mile. "And doesn't he usually go to work with Simmons?”

"I am not driving to work with him."

Washington turns to look at Grif in surprise. Then, when that doesn't gain him any answers, he turns the look on Tucker instead.

"Don't ask," Tucker says, “It’s a long story.”

Grif crosses his arms huffily. “Simmons is a traitor. What else does he need to know?”

Tucker doesn’t really think it counts as being a traitor if Grif never told Simmons what was going on in the first place, but what does he know? All he has is logic on his side. “Yeah, so anyway,” Tucker says, ignoring that comment, “We’ve gotta get going.”

“You go on ahead,” Washington says as he reaches across the table to steal Junior's cup. He grabs the orange juice with the other hand and fills it up without being asked. “I’ll make sure Junior gets to school in time.”

“Thank you,” Junior mumbles around a piece of toast, crumbs flying everywhere the second he takes a bite.

"Dude," Tucker says, "What have I told you about talking with your mouth full?"

Junior swallows the last of his slice. "Chicks don't dig it," he says automatically, forgetting about his anger for a moment. At Tucker's surprised look, Junior scowls and purposely shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth, chomping on it obnoxiously.

Tucker trades looks with Wash. For the first time in his life, he's glad that Junior is going over to his mom's tomorrow. He doesn't think he could deal with him being angry and Wash's parents coming over. Dealing with just one of those is enough for him.

“Anyway,” Tucker says again. He looks mournfully as he looks down at the food on the table. It's not often he gets a spread like this without having to cook it first. It kinda sucks that he's gonna miss it. "C'mon, Grif, we've gotta go."

Grif scrambles for a napkin and hurriedly begins making himself a breakfast sandwich for the road. After a moment, Tucker does the same, grabbing some bacon and two slices of toast for him to eat while he's waiting for Grif to get out of the shower.

Washington smiles. "Looks like you're going to get to eat after all."

"Yeah," Tucker says for lack of anything better to say. Then he thinks better of it and ducks down to give Wash a kiss square on the mouth regardless of what anybody else might have to say about it. "Thanks again for everything."

Wash gives him a pleased look. "Don't worry about it."

"Yeah," Tucker repeats, already humming at the thought of kissing him again. His eyes flicker back down to Washington's lips, watching as they curve into something knowing and sly. "So we should..."

Head back to their room for a goodbye that’s a little more pleasant, Tucker wants to say, but Washington knocks him out of his happy daydream with all the subtlety of splashing someone in the face with ice cold water.

“You should go,” Wash finishes firmly, “Before the two of you are late for work.”

Tucker sighs, but reluctantly pulls away. "Okay," he says, narrowing his eyes so that Washington knows he really means it, "But you owe me tonight after work."

"Hmm," Wash says, "If I have time."

Tucker puts his sandwich down on the table and pretends to yawn, stretching with his arms out high and allowing his dress shirt to ride up, showing off a thin sliver of skin and the marks that Wash made there hours ago.

"I'll make time," Washington says.

Tucker grins. Lucky that he put off tucking his shirt in instead of doing it immediately like he usually does. Some part of him must have known that he would need the extra serving of skin for something really good today, like making sure that Wash would stay over for two nights in a row instead of one for the first time in weeks.

"Can we just go?" Grif says, "Because watching the two of you make googly eyes at each other this early in the morning is making me sick."

"You're just jealous," Tucker says, but he backs up away from Wash regardless, turning to Junior with a hesitant look. They gaze at each other for a long moment, neither of them saying a word until Tucker finally breaks the silence. "So, uh...hope you have fun at school?"

Junior scoffs.

"Yeah," Tucker says with a sigh, "That's what I thought you'd say." He looks back to Wash for strength and gets a supportive smile in return. Still somewhat troubled by Junior's behavior, he turns back to Grif and tries to shake it off. "Come on. You don't wanna piss off Kimball again by being late."

Grif makes a face. "Yeah," he says, " _Some of us_ don't get special treatment to take time off whenever we want."

"Shut up, Grif," Tucker says, "She does that for all the parents. You're just mad that you can't get away with taking the two hour lunch breaks that Sarge let you have."

"Okay, _let_ is a strong word," Grif replies, "I prefer the phrase 'didn't need to know about.'"

"Whatever," Tucker says, "You're still just mad that Kimball caught you. But it's your own fault anyway, because if you hadn't been bragging about it in the break room, she never would have caught you in the first place."

Washington cuts in, looking vaguely amused. "Shouldn't you be two be arguing about this on your way to the car?"

Tucker turns back to Wash in surprise, then turns back to Grif and frowns heavily at him as though the whole thing was actually his fault. Which, for the record? It totally is. "Oh, right," he says, "I forgot about that."

He grabs his sandwich from off of the table with one hand and reaches out to ruffle Junior’s hair with the other, ignoring the protestations in favor of making his way out of the room and calling goodbye on his way through the kitchen door. Grif follows only seconds later, mouth already stuffed full of bacon and eggs.

The drive over to Grif and Simmons' apartment is too quick for much of a conversation, but that doesn't stop Grif from trying to convince Tucker to give him his sandwich because he's, quote: "Going through a really rough time right now."

"So am I!" Tucker exclaims as he pulls into a parking space, "I have to listen to you complain about this bullshit!" Okay, now he's starting to sound like Church. “Wait, I mean—fuck, you know what? I totally meant what I just said.”

And with that, he opens the door and steps out into the street, sidling around the edge of the car to meet Grif on the other side. “Come on, asshole, get a move on,” he tells Grif as he peers in through the window.

Grif grumbles, but gets out of the car regardless, leaning against the passenger side door and staring up at his apartment with an indefinable look. As the moments trickle by without Grif moving, Tucker finds himself getting a little worried about him.

It’s kind of awkward.

“Uh, I can run in and get some clothes for you,” Tucker offers. He slowly steps closer to Grif, searching that uncommonly blank face for a sign he’s listening. “And then you can go back and get showered at my place.” He waits some more, but Grif doesn’t move a muscle. “No? Okay. Or we could just stand out here like a bunch of—"

“I’m fine,” Grif says tersely, "I'm just stalling because our elevator is broken."

"Uh-huh, sure you are," Tucker returns. Wait, shit, he probably was. "Dude, are you trying to tell me that you've been climbing up eight flights of stairs every time you wanna go home? _You?_ Seriously?"

Grif snorts. "Get real. I've been sleeping in the jeep every night."

"But how do you—?"

"Simmons brings me water to wash with everyday," Grif replies as if that weren't the weirdest thing that Tucker's ever heard him say, "And I just piss in the bottles after I'm done. It works great. It’s freeing up so much more time for sleeping and eating."

Tucker has so many more questions he isn't sure he wants answered. Namely: "Are you sure he didn't just dump you because you're a gross fuck?" He pauses. "Wait, what am I saying? He would’ve dumped you years ago if that was a problem."

Grif shoots him a dirty look, but otherwise doesn’t respond. With a huge sigh, he reluctantly follows Tucker into the building, trailing behind him on the way up the stairs. He's winded by the time they get up the very first flight.

“At this rate, we won’t be at work until fucking five o’clock,” Tucker grumbles.

“Stop,” Grif huffs, “Complaining. Douchebag.”

Grif inhales sharply, then wavers on the top of the landing, actually swaying like he’s going to faint. “Uh, are you sure you wanna keep doing this?” Tucker asks, feeling somewhat alarmed, “I can seriously just go get your clothes and a couple of wet paper towels or something.”

"I told you," Grif wheezes, "I don't need your—"

"Grif!" they hear suddenly, "What are you doing?"

They look up in time to see Simmons rounding the corner. He's rushing toward them with a frown on his face, looking even more stressed out than he usually does.

"Where have you _been!?_ " Simmons continues, "I've been waiting for you all morning!"

Grif snorts mockingly, voice rich with scorn. "Like you care."

That actually causes Simmons to pause for a second, confusion crossing over his face as he halts in the middle of the hallway. "Of course I care, you idiot!" he finally bursts out, "We're going to be late!"

"Especially since it took like five minutes just to make it up here in the first place."

Simmons turns toward him in surprise, blinking rapidly as though he only just realized that Tucker was there. “Tucker?” he says, “What are you—was Grif hanging out at your place yesterday?”

Tucker responds with a shrug. “If you call bitching all night long and eating all my food hanging out, then sure.”

“Hey, I took care of your kid for you!”

“You call that babysitting?” Tucker replies. He leans against the bannister, staring down at Grif with a look of disbelief on his face. “I bet he just stayed in his room all night and left you the hell alone.”

Just for a second, the old Grif returns, smirking up at Tucker with a deeply smug look on his face. “That’s just the kind of babysitting that I like doing,” he says to Tucker’s complete lack of surprise, “The kind that requires no effort and—"

“You could have _called!_ ” Simmons squawks out of nowhere. His face is turning red from his irritation, matching the color of his hair. “So I wouldn’t have had to stay up all night wondering where you were.”

Grif frowns. “Why didn’t you just call my phone?”

“Because you left it at home!”

"Then why didn’t you just call Tucker's phone?”

Simmons looks likes he wants to wring Grif’s neck. “Oh, I don’t know Grif,” he says scathingly, “Maybe because I didn’t know you were _fucking there_.”

“Yeah, watching you two arguing like an old married couple is fun and all,” Tucker interrupts, “But can we have this conversation on the way up the stairs? Because I don’t feel like getting reamed out by anyone just because Grif can’t walk up fifteen steps without taking a break.”

Simmons rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you taking the elevator?”

"Uh, because it's out of service?" Grif says as though it were obvious.

"No, it's not!" Simmons replies, "They fixed it yesterday. Which you would've known if you fucking _came home_."

Tucker and Grif exchange glances. Simmons is sounding more bent out of shape than he usually does. "Dude, did something else happen last night?" Tucker asks, "Because you're sounding kind of..."

Simmons fumes. "Sounding kind of what?"

Like a worried parent or husband, Tucker wants to say, or someone else who freaks out when a grown-ass man decides to sleep over at somebody's place for the night. "Seriously," Tucker says in disbelief, "Don't either of you ever get laid at all?"

Unsurprisingly, Simmons is the only one who gets defensive. “I get laid!” he protests vehemently, “I get laid all the time!

Grif scoffs.

“Shut up, Grif!” Simmons snaps, “At least I have a girlfriend!”

Tucker winces on Grif’s behalf.

For a long moment, Grif is stone faced and silent, all narrow eyes and tight shoulders as he stares up at Simmons. "A girlfriend?" he finally echoes derisively, "Let's not get too ahead of yourself, Simmons. You haven't even gone on a date with her yet."

Simmons chin raises smugly. "Yes, I have."

"What?" Grif exclaims, " _When?_ "

"We went out for drinks last night," Simmons says with a hint of meanness to his words, almost like he's purposely throwing the news in Grif's face. It hits dead center in the worst of ways, striking Grif hard and making his eyes turn dark with bitterness.

"So you were out partying," Grif replies, "While I was supposedly lying dead in the streets. Yeah, I can really sense the concern."

Simmons flushes. "That's not what happened."

"Uh-huh," Grif says.

"We went out before I found out you were missing,” Simmons protests, "And then I came home and realized you were gone."

“I don’t care.”

Tucker's life is far too stressful these days to be getting involved in other people's bullshit. He sighs as he sits down on the top step, blocking Simmons' passage down the stairs. “Do you guys even know what you’re really arguing about?”

“We’re not arguing,” Simmons says.

“Yes, we are,” Grif says with a glare, “And we’re arguing because Simmons here is acting like a major—”

Tucker lets his head thump against the railing and tries his best to tune out the rest. He doesn't need to anyway; he's heard enough Grif-and-Simmons arguments to know they can go for days if nobody distracts them.

"Hey, Simmons," he interrupts, "Won't Sarge be mad at you if you're late?"

Simmons freezes so fast it leaves Tucker's head spinning. With a stiff back and tight shoulders, he pushes past Tucker and shoves Grif out of his way, descending the stairs in a purposeful kind of way.

"Kiss ass," Grif mutters as he watches him go.

Simmons gives him the finger without looking back.

Tucker waits until the front door closes behind him before he kicks out to get Grif's attention. "You know," he says conversationally, "There's gotta be better ways of getting him back."

Grif snorts. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Maybe," Tucker says, "But I have more of a clue than you."

Surprisingly, Grif doesn't argue with that.

 

* * *

 

With Simmons gone and the elevator working, it takes no time at all to get Grif in and out the apartment and on the way to work. It's getting him to shut up about Simmons that's the problem.

"Shut up, Tucker," Grif replies as they walk into the building, "You owe me after being forced to listen to you talk about Wash all those times."

Tucker holds the door open for an elderly security officer, letting him walk through before ducking inside. "That's different," he protests, "Wash and I actually had a thing. All you have is an imaginary relationship with your best friend/roommate."

Grif glares at him.

"What? I'm just saying," Tucker says.

"Well you can stop saying," Grif responds. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, the very picture of an irritated douchebag. Tucker's not all that impressed, to be honest, but he acts like he is for the sake of their friendship.

"Whatever," Tucker says, "So do you want me to drive you home or not? 'Cause I'm supposed to stay late to finish up work stuff, but if you're okay with sticking around longer I can always give you a ride."

Out of nowhere, a piercingly cheerful voice interrupts their conversation. “Did somebody say something about riding?”

Grif cringes away from Donut.

"So what were you guys talking about?" Donut asks, "Horseback riding? You guys should be careful with that. I know after a good long, hard ride on a stud, my backside sure can get sore!"

Tucker snickers mischievously, smile widening at the sight of Grif's pained expression. "Hell yeah, it can!" he exclaims gleefully, "Bow chicka bow wow."

“Don’t encourage him,” Grif grumbles, though something in his expression makes it unclear who he's actually referring to. Hell, for all Tucker knows, he might be talking to them both.

"Okay, whatever," Tucker begins, still amused but wanting to be nice, "Anyway, I was just asking Grif if he wanted a ride home after work so he can avoid Simmons some more."

Donut turns sympathetic immediately. "If you don't want to go home, you can always stay with Caboose and me," he offers, "We were gonna have a sleepover and watch scary movies today, but you guys are always welcome to come to our parties.

Grif snorts. "And what?" he says, "Watch as you two braid each other's hair and talk about boys? I don't think that's exactly up my alley—"

"We're gonna have pizzas and ice cream, too!"

"But how can I say no to time with my good buddies Donut and Caboose?" Grif finishes predictably. He wraps an arm around Donut's shoulder and starts leading him away. "Just come and get me when you're ready to go."

Tucker shrugs as he watches them leave him behind.

"Eh," he tells himself, "At least now I don't have to worry about him clockblocking me."

That's at least one less thing that'll fuck up his life.

 

* * *

 

It takes until lunchtime for Tucker to realize that nobody's come to bother him all day. "Wait, where is everyone?" he asks aloud, looking around only to see that almost everybody he actually gives a shit about is no longer hanging around the office. "Hey, Andersmith, where did everybody go?”

"I believe they're spying on Mr. Simmons, sir," Andersmith replies promptly.

"Okay," Tucker says, "So why are they spying on Simmons?"

Andersmith just shrugs and says he doesn't know. "I've just been trying to focus on my work today," he says. He gives Tucker a proud look. "I hope to one day be as diligent and intelligent as Mr. Caboose."

"Riight," Tucker says slowly, "You keep doing that. I'm gonna go check out what everyone else is looking at."

He leaves Andersmith behind looking vaguely disapproving and hurries over to tech support with everyone else. When he gets there, everybody is just standing around, piling up by the doorway like there's something fascinating on the other side.

He moves forward until he's standing next to Donut. "What's going on?" he asks, trying to peek over the other’s shoulder so that he can get a glimpse of the action. “What’s everyone looking at?”

“Shhh!” Donut hisses loudly, drawing a few glances. He twists around and grabs hold of Tucker’s arm, moving their heads closer so that he can whisper without being overheard. “Simmons is talking to his new girlfriend!”

Tucker’s eyes widen. Eagerly, he gets up on his tiptoes, hopping a little to look over people's heads. "Oh man, what does she look like?" he asks, "Is she hot?" He gets a quick look at bright red hair and skin that's darker than Tucker's own. "Wait, is that Jensen's friend? The one that plays volleyball?"

How the hell did Simmons pull _that_ off?

He tries to get a better look at how the two of them act together, but he's too short and the crowd too stubborn to give him a chance for a better view. He has to settle for getting all of his information second-hand.

"Ooh," Donut says, “She just kissed Simmons on the cheek.”

Tucker makes a face. Just kissing on the cheek? Whatever. Talk to him when they’re making out in the break-room or hooking up in the stairwell during lunch. Maybe then he'll be impressed.

"So where's Grif, anyway?" Tucker asks, "I'd have thought he'd be all up in this mess."

Palomo pokes his head out of nowhere just to stick his nose in other people’s business again.  “Grif caught Matthews trying to suck up to Sarge this morning,” he says enthusiastically, “And now he’s yelling at him by the copying machine.”

“Uh-huh,” Tucker says in his most unimpressed voice. He rolls his eyes, sharing his look of disbelief with Palomo, “And I bet that doesn’t have anything to do with how messed up he is about Simmons, does it?”

Palomo blinks hard in visible surprised, but before he can do anything like speak up and break the easygoing mood that Tucker’s in, Donut steps in and looks at them both reproachfully.

“Hmph!” he says, “Well, I think the two of you need to be a little more sympathetic to what Grif is going through right now. You know it can’t be easy to discover—"

Tucker snorts. “What? That you forgot to tell someone that you were dating them?”

Palomo’s eyes bug out. “Grif is dating Simmons!?”

"Shhh!" Donut and Tucker say at the exact time, a mirror image of flailing hands and panicked looks. But it's too late. Palomo's too-loud exclamation has already drawn the crowd, and they're turning toward them like sharks who have scented blood in the water.

"Thanks a-fucking-lot, Palomo," Tucker grumbles, "Way to spill the fucking beans."

"Sorry, Tucker!" Palomo says. He pauses and then shifts on his feet, head ducking down as he leans in almost conspiratorially. "Jensen's not gonna like this when she finds out, you know. And wait 'til she tells—"

"Relax," Tucker says, "They're not _really_ dating. I just said that because Grif is being stupid about things."

Palomo looks at him suspiciously, but Tucker keeps a straight face. No way is he gonna ruin things for Simmons, especially since this might be the dude's only chance of getting laid in what has probably been years. Hell, a decade, maybe, depending on how long Simmons has been waiting for Grif to get the picture.

And, well, he must be a better actor than he thought, because Tucker actually _feels_ the crowd lose interest in the conversation. Almost as one they turn back around to face Simmons, who must have already wrapped up the conversation with Jensen’s friend, because the disappointed crowd thins until even Tucker can see what’s going on.

Simmons waits until his new girlfriend has left the room to come stomping back in their direction. "You guys are assholes," he tells the remaining crowd as they disperse, ears pink as he blushes from head to toe.

"Yeah, well—"

“Why didn’t you tell anybody you were dating Grif?” Palomo bursts out eagerly. He lurches forward, staring at Simmons admiringly the entire time like he wants to hug him for supposedly two-timing or something.

The difference between now and five seconds ago is startling. Suddenly all the blood drains from Simmons' face, leaving the once blushing man looking pale and sick. “W-What?” he stammers, “Why would you—who said I was—I’m not dating Grif!”

"Of course you're not," Donut says soothingly, "You two are on a break!"

"Yeah—wait, what?" Tucker says. He blinks hard and turns back to Donut at the same time as everyone else, gaping at him with identical looks of confusion on their faces. "Uh...are you serious?”

“We’re not on a break!” Simmons interjects shrilly, “We were never dating in the first place!”

Donut looks at him disapprovingly. "Now, Simmons..."

"Shut up, Donut!" he shoots back, "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about! Grif and I never dated," His voice hitches, but he keeps on going. "And we were never _going_ to date. Now shut up and stop talking about it already!"

And with that, he stomps off and leaves them all behind, staring after him with similar looks of pity and concern. Donut in particular looks like he wants to go after him, but Tucker stops him before he can go.

"Don't bother, dude," Tucker says, "You'll only make things worse."

Donut hmphs loudly. "Well, it sounds to me like you don't know what you're talking about either!" he says, then promptly goes flouncing off after Simmons, chasing him down before he can get to his desk.

Tucker watches him go with a sigh.

"Hey, Tucker?” Palomo begins.

He closes his eyes wearily. “Yeah, Palomo?”

“Do you think Simmons was lying about them being on a break?” Palomo asks uncertainly. Tucker opens his eyes and sees Palomo shifting from foot to foot. “Because Bitters is gonna be pissed if he finds out they’ve been dating and didn’t tell anyone.”

Tucker’s brow furrows. “Why would Bitters be pissed off about it?”

“Because he’s the one in charge of the betting pool!”

Tucker sighs again. “Palomo?”

Palomo’s back straightens immediately. “Nevermind, I’m leaving.”

What do you know? The kid can learn after all.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day goes on like normal, with the sole exception of Grif and Simmons avoiding each other at all costs. Or at least Tucker assumes they’re avoiding each other. He overheard Palomo talking about it with Andersmith, but he knows better than to assume that Palomo knows what he’s talking about, even if he is the biggest gossip in the office.

Tucker mostly spends his time catching up on the work he promised Kimball he’d finish today and harassing Church over the phone, though he mostly waits to do that until everyone has gone home for the night. Regardless, it keeps him well and distracted from everything that’s been going on lately.

“Dude, you’ve gotta let me do it, okay?” he says over speaker phone, “I’ve been dreaming about this moment since I was a little kid.”

“Forget it, Tucker,” Church replies, “I don’t give a shit about what you want.” Which has been obvious enough since they day they became friends. “All I wanna do is get back to my honeymoon.”

Tucker scoffs. “Oh please. If your honeymoon was going all that great, you wouldn’t have picked up the fucking phone.”

Tucker certainly wouldn’t have, anyway. Not that he’s ever planning on getting that serious with someone or anything, but if he was, he definitely wouldn’t be spending his honeymoon letting anyone distract him from all the sex he could be having.  That kind of thing can ruin friendships.

"Oh, shut up! We're just taking a break between rounds."

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?

“Tucker,” Church growls.

“I’m just saying, they make pills for that now.”

“Goddammit, Tucker, I’m going to hang up on you!”

Tucker breaks into laughter over the sound of Church shouting him down over the other end of the line. For a second, he feels nothing but an odd sense of joy, but that’s quickly wiped out by what Church says next.

“Have you spoken to Carolina yet?”

The laughter cuts off as quick as it started.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Tucker says harshly. He glares down at the phone as if he can stop the words with just his eyes, but Church continues on as though he doesn't care that Tucker's too busy being pissed at her on Church's behalf.

"Yeah, 'cause I tried bitching her out this morning," Church says, "But she wouldn't answer her goddamn phone."

Tucker blinks hard in surprise, anger evaporating into the air. "But I thought you two always picked up the phone for each other," he says dumbly, "It's like a thing with you two, right? In case of emergencies?"

"I know," Church says, “But she isn’t picking up.”

He sounds more concerned about it than Tucker thought he honestly would be considering everything’s that’s been happening lately. “Why do you care, anyway?” Tucker asks, “I thought you were still pissed off at her.”

“I am!” Church says quickly, “I just, you know—"

“You’re not thinking about forgiving her, are you?”

There’s a pause in which Tucker thinks he’s actually considering it, but that thought is thankfully brought to an end by Church scoffing loudly into the phone. “Get real,” he says dismissively, “She doesn’t deserve it yet."

"Yeah, you gotta make her sweat a little."

At least until she realizes what a total dick she's being. There's no way that Carolina can make up for what she did, but at least her realizing it would be a step in the right direction.

"So, have you spoken to her yet or what?"

"I texted her yesterday," Tucker replies, "But she told me to mind my own business."

Church snorts. "Yeah, that sounds like her, alright."

"Hey, if you want, I can call her again," Tucker offers. He doesn't really want to get involved, but he will. "I can always try bitching her out instead."

'Thanks, Tucker," Church says drily, "But I think I'll stick to my plan instead."

"What's that?" Tucker asks, "Repeatedly cursing her out over voicemail until she finally comes around to your place and punches you in the dick?"

Church stays silent.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tucker says. He rolls his eyes and takes to fiddling with a pen left on the table, wishing he were already relaxing at home. He wouldn't mind having to deal with all this bullshit if Wash were here.

He glances at his watch.

"I'm gonna get off the phone now, okay?" Tucker says, "I've gotta get home in time to make dinner for Junior and Wash."

Tucker can practically _hear_ him smirking. “Shut up, dude,” he says before Church can say anything, “I don’t wanna hear it today. I’m already fighting with Junior, remember? I don’t want to start anything with you, too. ”

And since there’s next to no chance that Church will keep his mouth shut, Tucker hangs up on him then and there, ending the argument before it can begin. Then, after gathering up his things, Tucker makes his way out the building and heads home as fast as he can without breaking any speed laws.

Just as he's going through the door to his house, he hears the familiar chime of his phone signaling a message. It's from Wash and it reads: _How is Junior holding up?_

Tucker blinks hard in confusion. It was just a fist fight and some silent treatment. That's hardly anything at all. _Fine_ , he types back uncertainly, _He'll get over it in no time._

 _Oh, good,_ comes the response from Wash, _I was worried he wouldn't take it well._

Tucker's just about to respond when Sheila comes out of the hallway looking faintly distressed. "Oh," she says in relief when she sees him, "Thank goodness you are home."

Tucker immediately realizes what's wrong. "Another bad day?"

Sheila nods gravely. "I do not know exactly what happened to make him so sad," she tells Tucker, "But he refuses to come out of his room."

Tucker sighs. "Alright, Sheila, thanks for the warning. I'll take care of it from here," he says. He nods at the end table in the corner of the room. "Your check's in the same place it always is. Can you let yourself out while I deal with this?"

Sheila nods again. "Of course."

He waits until she's on her way before knocking twice on Junior's door. He gets no answer, so he knocks again, waiting patiently for some kind of response. "Junior?" he says, "You in there, buddy?" He pauses as a thought occurs to him. "You didn't sneak out the window, did you?

Still, Tucker gets no reply. Vaguely alarmed, he opens up the bedroom door slowly, preparing himself to get yelled at for entering without getting permission. But there's nothing. Not a single sound, just Junior lying there with the bedsheets over his head, far too still and silent for an a nine year old boy.

Worried, he finds himself kneeling on the floor in front of Junior, grabbing hold of his shoulder through the sheet. “What’s wrong?” he asks, squeezing harder than he should, “Hey, are you sick? Are you hurt?”

The blankets shift, but not enough to show Junior's face. Carefully, Tucker reaches over and tugs them down, baring Junior's tear-stained face to him.

For a moment, Tucker's heart stops beating.

"Junior?" he says anxiously.

“Theta doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore," Junior blurts out, voice tight with barely concealed panic and hurt, "He said it's 'cause I told on him and made him look bad in front of all of his friends."

Tucker relaxes all at once and drops back to sit on his heels. “Fuck, dude, don’t scare me like that,” he says in a shaky voice, "I thought something bad had happened to you."

Junior gives him a betrayed look.

Tucker throws up his hands. "Fuck, wait, I didn't mean that," he says quickly, "I just meant..." He stops, unwilling to say what he meant lest Junior think he's not taking it seriously. "I just meant...uh..."

"He called me a little kid!" Junior tells him mournfully, "And he told me I wasn't allowed at his house anymore."

Tucker's heart sinks in his chest, but he struggles to keep the feeling off his face. "He's just saying that because he's mad at you," he assures Junior, hoping with everything he has that it's true, "I bet he'll get over it in a couple of days."

Junior shakes his head in denial.

"He _will_ ," Tucker says. He forces a smile on his face, a wobbly one that Junior hesitantly returns, "C'mon, how many times have you ever seen Theta stay mad at anybody for more than a week?" He doesn't give Junior a chance to answer. "Never, that's when. So it'll be fine. You two'll be back to normal in no time."

"But he was _really_ mad at me," Junior insists.

"And you were really mad at me this morning, but you're talking to me now, aren't you?"

Junior gnaws on his lower lip, big brown eyes looking skittishly back and forth as he carefully considers the point. "I guess so," he says slowly, "But I get mad a lot. Theta doesn't."

Tucker thinks fast. “Well, sometimes people get madder when they get older," he says, “Like how old people get really grumpy and start yelling for no good reason.”

Junior blinks. “But _you_ don’t yell at people.”

Tucker reels back at the insult. "That's 'cause I'm not old!"

Junior gives him a skeptical look. "But you're almost _thirty_ ," he points out, which is a dirty, dirty lie. He's still got a year left before he's at that point.

"So?" Tucker shoots back, "You're almost _ten_."

Junior grins smugly. "Yeah!"

Oh. Right. That kinda thing doesn't work too well when you're going up against someone who's dying to get older. Fucking kids with their whole lives ahead of them. They don't know how good they've got it.

“Anyway,” Tucker says as he rolls his eyes, “If you’re feeling better, then I’m gonna go and get dinner started before Wash gets here, alright?”

Junior nods and gives him the world’s tiniest smile, and in return Tucker brushes his hand against Junior’s hair.  The soft curls try to tangle around his fingertips, but Tucker’s fingers are cunning and slide right through.

“This Theta thing,” Tucker says before he gets up from his crouch. He hesitates, then continues on, keeping his confidence in his voice. "It's gonna end up okay. You'll see. I promise you."

"Okay," Junior says, seriousness coming over him again and wiping away his brief moment of amusement. He still doesn't sound like he one hundred percent agrees with Tucker, but Tucker will take what he can get.

"It _will_ ," Tucker says emphatically, "Dude, when have I ever lied to you?"

Junior's reply comes as fast as anything. "The cable thing, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, the stuff that's in chicken nuggets," he says, ticking them off like he's actually counting, "That time you said Wash and you were wrestling in your room—"

"Okay, smart-ass, so you know about sex. Big deal. Lots of people do."

Junior pauses, giving him a horrified look. " _That's_ what you were doing?" he asks, eyes going very round at the news. He covers them like by doing so he can wipe the knowledge from his mind. "But you—"

Tucker refuses to be embarrassed about this. He absolutely refuses. But that doesn't stop his cheeks from filling up with heat, no matter how much he tries to remind himself that he's the cool kind of parent who doesn't get squeamish about the finer arts.

"You have sex _a lot_ ," Junior blurts out.

Tucker holds out his hand. "Yeah...uh, high five?"

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Junior lifts his hand and allows it to clap against Tucker's own. Afterwards, they just look at each other awkwardly, at a loss for what to do next.

Tucker coughs. "Right. So...I'm gonna go."

"Okay," Junior says quickly.

Tucker flees the room without looking back.

 

* * *

 

It's not until Wash gets there that he remembers the weird text from before. "You tried to warn me," Tucker realizes far too late to do anything about it.

Washington's brow furrows. "Warn you about what?"

"About the Junior and Theta thing."

"Oh," Wash says as he takes his jacket off and hangs it on a nearby hook. He shakes his head in denial. "I wasn't trying to warn you. I thought you already knew." He gives Tucker a curious look, eyebrows slightly lowered in concern. "Are you telling me you didn't?"

"How would I?" Tucker asks, "I just got home."

"Then why did you--”

“I thought you were talking about something else,” Tucker explains. He shrugs and waves Washington further in. “Anyway, it’s cool. Junior and I talked about it. He’s gonna be fine. I mean, kinda. He hasn’t come out of his room yet, but still.”

“That’s good,” Wash says, “About him being fine, that is.”

Tucker takes a moment to be pleased at just how relieved he looks at the news. It’s always great to know that Wash cares about Junior almost as much as Tucker does—enough so to erase the lines that are terminally on his face, making him look at least ten years younger.

“Yeah,” Tucker says. He takes two steps forward into Wash’s space and pushes him until his back hits the door, grinning up at him with a sly look on his face. “Hey, we never got a chance to finish what we started this morning.”

Wash’s hands come up to settle on Tucker’s hips, fingers slipping under Tucker’s shirt and rubbing against the skin he finds there. Tucker leans in at the touch, arms automatically moving to wrap around Washington’s waist.

“Funny. I don’t recall us starting anything.”

“That’s because you were too busy cock-blocking us.”

Wash rolls his eyes. “You were going to be late for work.”

“I’d rather be late for work for _that_ than because Grif and Simmons can’t get their act together,” Tucker points out reasonably enough. And before Wash can do anything like open his mouth and spoil the mood again, Tucker presses their lips together and silences any response that Wash could make in the best way that he knows how.

By the time they finally come up for air again, they’ve found their way into Tucker’s bedroom, mouths moving lazily against each other as Tucker straddles Wash’s lap.

“This was _way_ better than arguing.”

“Agreed.”

“Grif and Simmons could totally learn something from us.”

Washington hums.

Tucker pauses, then finally says what’s really on his mind. “Thanks for letting me cop a feel. I know you feel weird about it when Junior could walk in any second.” He snorts then and pokes his nose against Wash’s collarbone. “Hopefully you won’t be like that when your parents are staying over.”

Wash stiffens immediately.

“What?” Tucker asks as he pulls back warily, “What is it?

"Tucker," Washington says in a voice that's tight with tension, "I don't want to ruin the mood—"

"So don't," Tucker says. He avoids Wash's eyes as he sits up straight and tugs his shirt back into place. He’s been dealing with enough lately without Wash making things worse. But as usual, his anger changes his mind for him. "You know what? Nevermind. Just spit it out already.”

"My brother wants to visit too," Washington blurts out.

Tucker’s mouth suddenly goes as dry as a bone. “W-What?” he stammers out, “I thought you were gonna say that we couldn't bang or make out for the whole week or something.”

“No, I—he wants to bring his family. I said yes.”

_“Why!?”_

“We don’t get to see each other much ever since I moved up here,” Washington explains, sounding faintly nervous and regretful, a combination which would normally have Tucker wincing and backing off.

Not today, though.

“So, what? You’re really gonna dump this on me all at once?” Tucker says. He makes a wordless noise of frustration. “What the _fuck_ , Wash? You couldn’t give me a fucking break? It wasn't bad enough just meeting your parents?"

He lifts his leg and twists his body until he’s sliding off of Washington’s lap, leaving it behind in order to pace the floor. The only thing that keeps him from yelling the words is the knowledge that Junior is in the other room and really doesn’t need any additional stress.

Washington’s expression turns cold at the sight of Tucker’s anger, all trace of nerves gone from his face. “Look, if you don't want to meet them, that's fine. Nobody is forcing you to. But I only get to see my family once or twice a year and I'm not going to squander this opportunity now that it's presented itself to me."

Tucker wavers just a little at that. He doesn't mean to give in completely, but his expression must say something different entirely, because at the sight of it Washington softens.

"Alright," Wash says, "I understand that this may be... _difficult_ for you—"

Tucker snorts.

"But I'm sure we can find a way to make things easier."

"Like what?" Tucker scoffs, "Only having one of them over at a time?"

"Sure," Washington says amiably, "We can do that."

Tucker startles. "What, really?"

"If you want," Wash replies. At the surprised look on Tucker's face, Washington sighs and leans over to take him by the hand, pulling until Tucker is sitting next to him on the bed. "Tucker, I don't want you to feel..."

"What?" Tucker says when Wash doesn't finish.

"Ambushed," Wash says. He glances away and then back again, shifting like the conversation is making him uncomfortable. "I want you to like them, and that can't happen if you constantly feel on guard around them."

Tucker goes quiet. Funny, but he never thought of it that way before. Never considered that this could be just as big of a deal to Wash as it was to him. Never considered that Wash could be equally nervous and afraid.

"Alright," Tucker says, "So we take this slow."

Maybe then it won't wind up a fucking disaster.


	3. Confrontation

Tucker opens his eyes the very next day to the sight of Wash sitting up in their bed.

"Hey," he mumbles, staring with heavy eyes as the hard lines of Wash's back stiffen up in momentary surprise, "Where are you going?" He reaches for Wash almost unconsciously, watching the play of muscles as Washington's body reacts to his touch, shoulders softening and becoming loose once again.

Wash is always more pliable in the morning. It's like his tension melts away whenever they sleep together, even when they're not doing anything but sleep. All Tucker has to do is touch him and he relaxes completely. It's one of Tucker's favorite things about him.

Washington twists around to give him that stupid half-smile of his that never fails to make Tucker want to smile back. "I'm just going for my morning run," he explains, "I'll be back in time for breakfast."

Tucker glances out the window. Through the shades, he can see the dim light of daybreak. He wants to glare at it until Wash gets back into bed. "Okay,” he says as he rubs his eyes sleepily, “But I've gotta get ready to drive Junior to his mom's in an hour."

"Don’t worry,” Wash assures him, “I'll be back before then."

"Sure," Tucker says, "I'll cook while you're gone."

Washington smiles wrily.

"Alright, so I'll put out the cereal boxes," Tucker admits with a shrug.

"That's what I thought," Wash says, and with a fond shake of the head he pulls away, heedless of Tucker's desire to keep him around. "Just remember to leave me some of that cereal I like."

"You mean the healthy kind that everyone else hates?" Tucker says. He snorts and makes a face. "Yeah, that'll be so fucking hard."

Washington rolls his eyes, but only says, "Good." And with that, he gets up and leaves Tucker behind, exiting the room without so much as a quick kiss on the lips for Tucker. But it doesn't matter. He knows he'll get one when Wash comes back.

Tucker lets himself doze for another thirty minutes, then hops in the shower to get ready for the day, taking his time in there to make up for the lack of a early morning quickie. As he gets dressed, he can hear the sound of the front door opening, and by the time he finds his way into the kitchen, Wash and Junior have already started breakfast.

Tucker shrugs sheepishly when Wash gives him a dry look over the boxes of cereal. "You couldn't even manage to put cereal on the table, Lavernius?" Washington says in exasperation.

Tucker waggles his eyebrows. "Nah, but I'll make it up to you before we leave."

Surprisingly, the offer makes Wash flush, and his head whips around in order to glance warily at Junior, who returns the look with a blank expression. "What?" Junior asks after a few seconds go by. His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why are you staring at me?"

"No reason!" Washington says in a rush, "I'm just wondering how you're enjoying breakfast."

Tucker smirks, but he _does_ owe Wash one already, so maybe he can afford to be magnanimous about this. "I think he wants to know if you want to try any of his gross cereal," he says teasingly, laughing both at Wash's gratefulness and Junior's hilarious look of disgust, “But I could’ve told him you hate that fiber stuff.”

“It tastes like feet,” Junior agrees.

“It does not!” Washington protests, “It tastes like...like…”

Tucker snorts. “Like cardboard?”

“No,” Wash says, “And stop helping.”

Tucker just laughs as he sits down, reaching for the Honey Nut Sugar Flakes and changing the subject before Wash can start nagging him about eating healthier. “Hey, so I hear new people are moving in across the street,” he tells Junior, “Maybe they’ll have a kid your age."

Junior hunches in on himself and starts stirring his cereal instead of eating it, spoon clanging loudly against the side like he's trying to block out the sound of Tucker's voice. "Other kids don't like me," he says moodily.

It feels like Tucker's been stabbed in the gut. Just for a second, Tucker trades a look with Wash for his own comfort and then prepares himself to tell a lie to make his kid feel better. "Dude, no," he says, "You know that's not true."

Junior scoffs down at his bowl. His spoon slips out of his fingers and lands in the cereal with a plop, milk splashing over the sides and landing on the table. "Can I go to my room?" he asks, "I forgot to pack my games."

"You can do that later," Tucker replies, "We still have plenty of time."

Junior scowls. Not really at Tucker or anything, but more at the world in general. It's as if he's filled with so much bitter disappointment that it seeps into every aspect of his life. "I thought we talked about this," Tucker says.

Junior shrugs, looking unconvinced.

"C'mon," Tucker begins, "You know—"

"Junior," Wash suddenly says in a solemn voice—the kind of voice meant for getting people's attention. The seriousness of it makes both Junior and Tucker go still and glance at each other with worried eyes, then immediately turn the look on Washington.

"Yeah, Wash?" Junior says uncertainly.

"Look, I've known Theta his whole life," he says, the name causing Junior to stiffen up, "I know him better than almost anybody. And I know that soon enough Theta will see who his real friends are and realize that you did the right thing."

Washington pauses, making sure Junior sees how earnest he's being, then smiles ruefully at his own gravity, adding: "And if the new neighbors have a kid, I'm sure the two of you will be friends in no time."

And where Junior could ignore it coming from Tucker, he can't ignore it coming from Wash. Not him, no. Not the guy who’s never lied to him before. Not the guy he thinks is one of the coolest adults around. Slowly, Junior's face smoothes into something a little less harsh, a small smile peeking out and lighting up his entire face.

Tucker has never wanted to kiss Wash more. He has to clench his hands around the edge of the table in order to keep himself from standing up and doing just that, and even though he stops himself, the feeling cuts through his skin and settles deep in his veins.

He clears his throat. "So yeah, you should totally listen to him."

Junior glances down at his bowl again and then carefully eats another spoonful. "Okay," he says as soon as he's done chewing. Just that and nothing else, as though the matter is completely settled.

Tucker is genuinely startled. "Okay? Really? That's...great?"

"It is," Washington says. He smiles at Junior, then turns to give Tucker this small, pleased smile that warms him to the core. He always gets that way when he's done something right with Junior, like he's so thrilled that the kid actually listens to him that he can barely hold it in.

Tucker never knows what to do with that. In the beginning, when they were just starting this thing, Tucker did his best to keep them away from each other. That way, if it didn't work out then at least Junior wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. But these days, Tucker wants things to be a bit different, and moments like these show he was right to allow the change.

He returns the pleased look with one of his own and starts pouring the cereal in his bowl, resisting the urge to hum happily the whole time. No need to let the others know how he's feeling; it's too embarrassing, for one, and for another...well, it's way too fucking personal. Even for Wash. Even for Junior.

"As soon as we're done here, get ready to roll," Tucker announces as he pours milk into the bowl Wash set out for him, "'Cause I promised your mom you would be early this time."

"We're going to IHOP again," Junior explains.

"You go to IHOP every weekend," Tucker points out, "Isn't it like a tradition or something?"

Junior nods his head, long curly hair going everywhere. "Uh-huh. But we're going there for breakfast this time," he explains, "Not for lunch, so it's not as fun."

Tucker nods knowingly, but it's clear that Washington doesn't get it. "What's the difference?" he asks, "Aren't you still going to eat breakfast either way?"

Junior looks at him as though he's being purposely stupid. "Yeah, but we can have breakfast for breakfast anytime," he says, "That's why breakfast for lunch is cool."

"And breakfast for dinner even cooler," Tucker adds. He nudges Washington under the table with the tip of his boot and then lets his foot rest there because there's no good reason not to. "Get with the program, dude."

"I'll do my best," Wash says drily, then turns to Junior and asks, "So if you're supposed to be eating breakfast with your mother in a few hours, why are you eating cereal now?

Junior blinks twice and shrugs. "I dunno," he says after he eats another spoonful, "I always eat breakfast before I go."

"I see," Wash says, although it's clear he doesn't, "But won't you be too full to eat?"

Tucker rolls his eyes. "Trust me, if they're going to IHOP, then Junior will get something sugary," he tells Wash, "And if it's sugary, he'll _make_ room." It might cause him to blow chunks all over his mom's car on the way home, but he'll still make room.

"I'm gonna get the cheesecake pancakes!" Junior says smugly.

Tucker gives him a silent thumbs up.

Now it's Washington's turn to roll his eyes. Tucker can tell that he's barely holding back a lecture on eating healthy— _barely_ being the key word, after all, since the only thing keeping Wash from saying anything is his unwillingness to step on any parenting toes.

Tucker shakes his head. Even without Washington saying a word, Tucker can still hear the admonishment perfectly. It's there, floating in his head like a balloon, and even Wash biting his tongue isn't enough to keep him from hearing it.

"Whatever," Tucker says in response to Wash's unspoken comment, "I'll make him eat vegetables or salad or something when he comes back, okay?"

Washington flushes. "I didn't say anything."

"Uh-huh," Tucker says, "And I didn't say you did."

"Just so we're both clear on that."

Tucker shrugs and looks back at Junior to see how he feels about their plan. "Do I _have_ to eat them?" Junior asks. He makes a face at Tucker, who makes one back just because, then turns to Wash and gives him a pleading look. "I already ate some yesterday."

"Oh, please, you ate like three string beans," Tucker says with a snort, "That's barely anything. We’re gonna make you eat at _least_ four, right Wash?"

“That’s a high bar, but I think he can handle it,” Wash says drily.

“But—" Junior starts to protest. His posture slumps when he sees that Tucker’s serious, and he turns a glare on Washington that could burn the whole city down with the force of his anger. Wash, in turn, looks briefly regretful, wavering visibly with his shoulders hunching up as though he wants to take it all back.

“Maybe we should...”

“Nope,” Tucker says, “He’s totally gonna be forced to eat them now.” He’s already made his decision and now everybody’s gotta live with it—and that includes Wash, whose dumb idea this was to start with it.

Junior tries one more time. “But if I have to eat vegetables, so do you,” he points out reasonably, “Because you’ll be making them for everyone.”

Tucker wrinkles his nose. That’s true, of course, though Tucker is old enough that he can totally get away with being a hypocrite. Just...y’know, maybe not in front of his kid, who he still feels the need to impress every now and then.

“Ugh, this sucks,” Tucker grumbles. He uses his spoon to poke at the soggy mess of his cereal made inedible by Tucker’s distraction, “I can’t believe we all have to eat healthy tomorrow because of you. This is bullshit."

"You don't _have_ to," Washington begins.

"Yeah, but you'll give us that disapproving look if we don't and it always makes me want to start a fight," Tucker points out. He frowns over at Wash, who is frowning back. "And I don't want to get in a fight while your parents are here."

Junior, who only found out about it yesterday, suddenly pipes up and quotes one of Tucker's many lectures, "Because fighting gives people the wrong impression and makes you look like a huge dick."

Tucker nods. " _Exactly._ And it's always better to _have_ a huge dick than it is to _be_ a huge dick."

Junior nods thoughtfully and asks, "How do you know if you have a huge dick?"

Wash chokes on the glass of orange juice he was drinking. "Do we have to have this conversation?" he asks between coughs.

"Oh, please," Tucker scoffs, "If you think this is bad, just imagine the kind of questions he asked when I told him where babies come from."

Junior shoots him a dirty look. "You said I could ask you anything!"

"Yeah, but I didn't mean in front of company."

"Wash isn't company!" Junior protests vehemently, startling everyone into silence. Wash’s eyes bug out and he looks at Tucker with shock in his eyes, his simple surprise turning into something greater.

"Uh," Tucker says. He blinks rapidly. It's one thing for Tucker to think that way, but it's another thing entirely to have Junior confirm it. He wonders how long Junior has felt that way and if there's anything Wash did to make it official. "Uh...right. I was talking about back then, but whatever."

"Oh," Junior says.

“But, um, that thing you said,” Tucker begins. He pauses and then glances at Washington, a little unsure of whether to acknowledge it or to let it go. “About Wash. That was cool. Right?” Tucker meets Wash’s eyes, hoping to see agreement there.

Washington clears his throat. “It was,” he says unsteadily. Just when Tucker’s about to ask how he’s handling Junior’s little announcement, Wash ducks his head and looks away, visibly embarrassed by how happy he feels.

Junior looks back and forth between them, eyeing Washington’s contented expression and Tucker’s own pleasure at the news. “Why are you guys being weird?”

“Because you don’t mind having Wash around,” Tucker says honestly, “And that’s kind of important to both—” He checks in with Wash and gets a nod. “It’s kind of important to both of us.”

“Why?” Junior asks.

“Because you’re my kid.”

Junior wrinkles his nose in confusion. “So?”

“So...nevermind,” Tucker says, “Isn’t it time for us to be leaving, anyway?”

Washington makes a big show of checking his watch, looking faintly relieved all the while. “Just about,” he agrees as he begins cleaning up, “Especially if you don’t want to be late.”

Tucker jumps on the excuse. “Yeah. We wouldn’t want that.”

He stands up and waves Wash’s hands aside, telling him without words to let it go. The milk can be put away, sure, but the rest of the cleaning can wait until Tucker gets home—not that he wants to do chores or anything, but it _is_ something that he’s used to doing as a parent.

“Forget it,” he says when his silence doesn’t work. He grabs the milk from Wash’s hands and goes to put it in the fridge, shaking his head the entire time. When he looks back, Wash is smiling sheepishly, and Junior still looks like he has no clue what’s going on.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Tucker tells them, leading them out of the kitchen without another word. Junior and Wash scramble to follow. Tucker can hear them in the background, the clang of spoons hitting empty bowls and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor; soon enough, they’re at his side, strolling out of the kitchen and into the hall.

But then Washington stops him with a single word.

“Hey,” Wash says in a low voice. He slides his hand down Tucker’s arm and holds his wrist in a loose grip, thumb rubbing gently against Tucker's pulse. It's familiar—he likes to do this every so often—and intimate in the weirdest of ways, and even now it makes Tucker shiver.

"Yeah?" Tucker says breathlessly. He moves closer until their chests are touching and tilts his head into Wash's neck, warm air puffing against the sensitive skin. "Junior and I are kinda on a schedule."

Washington hesitates at that and pulls away slightly.

"But what the hell, we can wait, right Junior?" Tucker says in a rush. He glances at Junior with an urgent look, begging him with his eyes to back his dad up.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Junior announces in a flat tone. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head, wandering off without another word like the awesome wingman he is. Tucker waits until he disappears down the hall to turn back to Wash with an eager look.

Washington ducks his head on a small smile, pleasure and embarrassment oozing out of every pore. "You said you'd make it up to me before you go," he reminds Tucker, humming when lips make contact with the curve of his neck and teeth make their presence known.

This close, Tucker can smell the scent of dried sweat on Washington’s skin. This close, the smell is dizzying and seductive, reminding Tucker of long nights and early mornings. Tucker grins into Wash's skin. "Quickie?"

"Not quite," Washington says, but he pulls Tucker closer nonetheless, hands moving to Tucker's hips and tugging them against his own.

"Later? Maybe at the Director's place?"

"Not a chance," Wash replies.

"You suck," Tucker says.

"I do," Washington says gravely.

“Bow chicka bow—"

And just like that, Wash closes the space between them and pulls Tucker into a kiss. Their mouths move against each other sweetly, tempting Tucker to draw it out, but despite the desire to keep it going he knows they’ll have to stop before they go too far; Junior will be back eventually, after all, and he and Tucker will have to be on their way.

With a sad noise, he puts some distance between them, taking a few regretful steps back while wiping the wetness from his lips. He swallows hard, then opens his mouth and calls, “Hey, Junior! You can come out now!”

The bathroom door creaks open and Junior walks out warily, stepping into the hall with a suspicious expression on his face. “Are you sure?” he asks as he moves forward, “I can stay in longer."

"Nah, it's cool," Tucker replies, "We're done making out for now."

Junior relaxes at the reassurance.

“So anyway, you should hurry up and get your backpack so we can go,” Tucker tells him as Junior starts walking toward them, “I know _I’d_ like to stay here and mack on Wash all day long, but I kinda think it’d get boring for you.”

Junior wrinkles his nose. “Yeeeah,” he agrees with a solemn nod, looking so serious about it that Tucker wants to laugh, “Plus, Mom would get mad at you.”

Fuck yeah, she would. She gets mad enough the few times Tucker is late to drop Junior off; he can’t imagine how pissed off she’d be if Tucker didn’t bring him at all.

Speaking of being late...

Tucker doesn’t have his cell phone on him, but he takes a quick glance around as he looks for something that has the time, then grabs Washington’s arm to get a look at his watch when he remembers that the only clock is in the living room.

“Uh, Junior?” he says when he sees the time, “You might wanna hurry up.”

Junior smirks a little at his tone, but he makes his way into his room and returns moments later with a school bag filled with an extra set of clothes and whatever else Junior wanted to take with him.

“Ready to go?” Tucker asks.

Junior nods.

Tucker looks at Washington, who only smiles back. “I’ll see you at the barbecue,” he says, then looks down ruefully at his plain white t-shirt and workout sweats. “I’ll lock up here after I’m done getting showered and dressed.”

Tucker grins slyly and reaches out to trail his fingers along the Wash’s waistband—just enough to be a tease, but not enough to be inappropriate. “Take your time in there,” he drawls, wickedness coming out clear in his voice, “I definitely did.”

Washington looks to the ceiling for strength. “Please leave,” he says in a strained voice, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out again.

Tucker laughs and decides to do just that. “Come on, Junior,” he says happily, one arm coming up to wrap around his son’s shoulder, “Lets hit the road and get you to your mom’s already.”

Junior says goodbye over his shoulder, but Tucker doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to. He and Wash already had their moment, and nothing else could ever top it. Besides, they’ll definitely be late if he says goodbye again.

There’s no question about that.

* * *

 

When Tucker gets back, the apartment is empty and there's no trace of Washington left in the place. It's as if he was never there at all, and if it weren't for the neatness of the living room and the lack of bowls in the kitchen sink, Tucker would be doubting his own memory. It's funny, though, but the sight is comforting, even if Tucker can't quite remember when a clean house started feeling like home.

As it is, he does his best to ignore the feeling, making his way past the living room where Epsilon is sleeping and into his bedroom where he plops down onto the bed fully clothed. The pillows still smell like Washington, Tucker notes, and he buries his head in them to get a better sniff, breathing it in as though he hasn't smelled it in months.

Carolina keeps saying they’re in the honeymoon period, so maybe that’s why he’s reacting this way. Tucker wouldn’t know. He’s never been in a relationship like this before. Maybe it’s because they were friends before they got together, or maybe it’s just something about him and Wash; either way, it’s like something has finally clicked in his head for the first time in forever and Tucker absolutely cannot get enough.

He falls asleep to that smell. It's one of the best sleeps he's ever had. But eventually all rests have to come to an end, and it's suddenly time for Tucker to make an appearance at the barbecue. He ends up being a little late, but that's okay; after all, it's not his turn to do set-up duty, so it's not like people are gonna bitch him out about it.

And by people he of course means Carolina. Or Wash, come to think of it, because the guy's got a weird hang-up about people being on time for things. It's more than a little bit ridiculous, but he makes up for it with his skills at blow jobs and that's the only thing that matters in the end.

Well, okay, and _other_ things.

"Tucker," says Washington's voice, coming out suddenly as if he were summoned into being by the force of Tucker's thoughts, "Do you have any idea—"

"You can't yell at me," Tucker blurts out, "Not unless you give me a blowjob first."

There's a deeply embarrassed silence behind him, followed by the sound of laughter, and Tucker turns around only to see Wash and North standing in front of him. Wash immediately turns to North and says, “Don’t say anything.”

“You sure, Wash?” North teases, “Because this is giving me a whole lot of insight into your relationship with each other.”

“Dude, don’t make fun of him,” Tucker says. He gets a startled look of approval from Wash that turns sour when Tucker continues. “If he gets all embarrassed and stuff, he won’t let me bang him in the bathroom later.”

Washington scowls. “If you keep talking, I won’t let you ‘bang me’ ever again.”

Tucker’s hands fly up defensively. “Whoa, okay! I’m done now!”

“Good,” Washington says.

North watches them with more than a little bit of amusement. “I’ll do my best not to ruin your chances,” he says with a smile on his face that Tucker can’t help but mirror. North is the kind of guy who can do that sort of thing, though Wash seems completely immune to the effect. It must be because they've known each other so long.

"So anyway," Tucker begins. He looks around for something to change the subject to so that Wash won't kill him and zooms in on the lack of a familiar shadow behind North. “Where’s Theta? Is he hiding in the den again?”

The smile on North’s face disappears in an instant, replaced by something tired and grim. “He didn’t want to show up today," he explains. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking uncommonly sad. "He's still mad at me for getting his friends in trouble."

Tucker shakes his head. "I don't get why he likes them so much," he says, "Theta's awesome and those kids sound like assholes."

"Tucker!" Wash says reprovingly.

"What?" Tucker says, "They _do._ "

"They're just kids!"

"That doesn't mean they can't be assholes," Tucker says in exasperation. He glances at North and smirks when he conspicuously doesn't admonish him. "I know I was an asshole when _I_ was a kid."

North rubs his head ruefully. "So was I."

"See?" Tucker says, "Lots of little kids are assholes."

"Could you please stop saying assholes?" Washington asks.

Tucker rolls his eyes. "Whatever, dude. You know what I mean," he says, "I'm just saying that not all kids are as awesome as the ones you've met."

Wash looks like he disagrees, but that’s only because he hasn’t seen how awful kids can get. Just wait until he hears some of Junior’s stories. Tucker bets he won’t be saying anything then. Hell, Tucker's surprised he hasn't seen the light after this whole thing with Theta and his friends.

"Hey, so what happened at the sleepover anyway?" Tucker asks. He looks at North with a curious expression, wondering what happened after he hung up the phone. "Did you send them home right away or did you wait to catch 'em in the act?"

"I didn't have to wait," North replies, "They were just about to leave when I stepped in. It's a good thing you called when you did, or they would've been gone before I knew it."

"Nah, I'm sure you would've figured it out," Tucker says. Probably by using perimeter alarms, or some super secret spy technique that only he and his friends know about. "Hey, do you have—"

"No," Washington says, "Whatever you're thinking is completely wrong,"

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I know it's probably ridiculous," Wash replies.

Tucker scowls. "I don't have to stand here and take this, you know."

A smile flits across Washington's face, lighting his steel grey eyes with mischief. "You're right," he agrees, then pauses long enough to turn his smile into a smirk before saying, "You could always leave."

Tucker's eyes narrow. "Maybe I will."

"Maybe you _should_."

"Yeah, and maybe you should bite—"

He's cut off by the sound of North's laughter. Tucker looks over only to see North shaking his head, all the while staring at them like they're the funniest thing he's seen all day.

Tucker crosses his arms and stares back defiantly. "What’s so funny?”

“The two of you,” North replies, then inexplicably doesn’t say anything else, leaving Tucker waiting for a joke that doesn’t come.

“Okay,” Tucker says, “Whatever _that’s_ supposed to mean.” He shrugs and looks at Wash for a second, sharing a look of bafflement. “Anyway, why did you guys come over here in the first place?”

“We were just wondering if you knew whether or not Church and Tex were going to come today,” North replies before Wash can, “We wanted to congratulate them in person.”

“Wait, they're not here?”

Tucker is so annoyed by that news that he fishes his phone out of his pocket and calls him up immediately. "Dude," he says as soon as Church answers, "Why aren't you and Tex at the barbecue?"

"Gee, I don't know, Tucker," Church says caustically, "You really can't think of a fucking reason? Not even one?"

And okay, when he says it like _that_ it sounds fucking stupid. Still, Church is making a mountain out of a molehill. "C'mon," he says, "You know Carolina hates making a scene in front of the Director."

"I was talking about my honeymoon, Tucker,” Church replies, “You know, that thing you keep insisting on interrupting?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tucker says, “I forgot about that.”

Church inhales sharply, sounding as though he’s either preparing himself to say something devastating or trying to get his emotions under control. Tucker heads him off at the pass by interrupting him before he can do either.

“Anyway, everyone wanted to congratulate you for that or whatever, but you’re not here so they’re gonna have to do it over the phone.” He puts his cell on speakerphone before Church can respond, holding it up and waiting expectantly.

Washington gives him a look of exasperation.

“What?” Tucker says, “You’re the one who wanted to say it.”

“Sorry about this, Church,” North says while trying not to laugh again, “We didn’t mean to interrupt you on your honeymoon.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” Church responds, “I already knew Tucker was a dumb-ass.”

“Hey!” Tucker says, “It’s not my fault you keep picking up the phone!”

Washington rolls his eyes, but in the end all he does is lean closer to the phone and say, “Congratulations, Church,” a sentiment that’s quickly echoed by North.

“Yeah, and tell Tex she has our pity!”

“Hey, fuck you Tucker!” Church snaps back, “Tex is lucky—”

“Ignore him,” Washington interrupts, sending Tucker a warning look when he automatically opens his mouth to respond, “You know he’s just trying to antagonize you.”

Tucker takes offense to that. There’s no _trying_ involved. Not that it’s all that hard to piss Church off in the first place. With a frown, he takes his cell off of speakerphone and talks directly into it. “I’m gonna hang up on you before you get me in trouble.”

Church squawks. “You’re the one who called _me_ , asshole!”

Tucker scoffs. “Whatever.”

" _Tucker_..."

"Hanging up now," Tucker says hastily. He cuts Church off mid-curse and hangs up his phone, tossing a shit-eating grin Washington’s way when he catches him looking at Tucker in disbelief.

“Sometimes,” Wash says, “I don’t understand your relationship at all.”

Tucker makes a disgusted face at the thought of him and Church in any kind of relationship. “Dude, don’t call it that,” he complains, “The only relationship I’m in is with you.”

North smiles again. “And something tells me you’d better keep it that way,” he says lightly, making a small shiver run down Tucker’s spine. He remembers the last time North gave him a warning. He also remembers how close he came to making Tucker regret ignoring it.

“ _North_ ,” Wash begins, “Don’t—”

“It’s cool,” Tucker lies, “He’s just looking out for you.” But he shifts on his feet regardless, nerves causing his back to go straight and his chin to come up defiantly. What can he say? He’s always been a ‘fuck you’ kinda guy when scared or alarmed.

“I can look out for myself,” Wash says in a firm voice. He sends North a warning look of his own, telling him without words to back off. The sight sends a warm feeling rushing through him, erasing the sudden cold that came from North’s words. He inches closer to Washington and lets the feeling soothe his tension.

Wash’s arm automatically comes up to wrap around Tucker’s shoulder, tucking him into Wash’s side as though he was just waiting for the chance to all along. It’s nice, and it’s relaxing as hell, and something about it reminds him of what Junior said this morning.

Which explains why Tucker suddenly feels the need to cop a feel.

Wash stiffens at the feel of a hand on his ass, his eyes widening in faint surprise at the public display of affection. His arm tightens around Tucker's shoulder, but to Tucker's surprise he doesn't pull away at all, a fact that has Tucker so very pleased that he moves his hand up to Wash's hip where it belongs.

If North noticed anything, he never lets it show. "Okay, okay," he says with a laugh, “Sorry, Tucker. Sorry, Wash. I promise I won’t do it again." And then he winks at Tucker as though he weren't just threatening to chop his body up into a million pieces seconds ago."

Tucker eyes him warily. "Don't worry about it,” he says to North and then tilts into Wash’s body further, basking in the feeling of having a badass to back him up whenever something happens. Seriously, it’s fucking awesome. He’ll be able to start _so_ much shit now.

Hell, he’d stay there forever if it weren’t for his bladder suddenly making itself known. With a sigh of regret, he pulls away from Washington, letting his arm slip off Tucker's shoulder. "Gotta go hit the head,” he explains once he does.

Washington nods in understanding and North waves him on, so Tucker makes his way across the yard toward the back entrance of the house. He’s just about to go inside for a quick piss when he spots someone out of the corner of his eye that has him heading in that direction.

"Grif?” he exclaims when he gets to the deck and looks down at the man lounging on one of the chairs, “What are you doing over here?”

Grif snorts and takes a swig of beer. “Why do you think?”

Tucker looks around for a sign, but there's nothing to explain why Grif is over here in public and not hiding in the shade of the shed with the others. So Tucker takes a stab in the dark and comes up with the only reason he can think of.

"Are you avoiding Simmons or something?"

Some emotion flashes in Grif's eyes that has him scoffing derisively. "Like that would be hard," he replies, "Simmons didn't even show up today."

Tucker walks forward with a sigh. "Why not?" he asks even though he's not sure he wants to know, "Did he have a doctor's appointment or something?"

"No," Grif replies, “Simmons is on a date.”

Tucker hesitates before speaking up again. "With Jensen's friend?" he asks, and receives a nod, "Didn’t they just go out a couple of days ago?”

Grif nods grimly and takes another swig, downing the remains of what's in the bottle without leaving a single drop. "They had such a good time that they're going out for brunch," he says, "Brunch! Who goes out for brunch these days, anyway? Little old ladies and Simmons, that's who."

"Pssh, brunch is awesome," Tucker tells him, "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"I know brunch is awesome!" Grif snaps irrationally, “It’s the only other time it’s socially acceptable to eat thirty strips of bacon in one sitting!”

"So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is—"

Tucker plops down next to Grif on the deck and steals one of the many bottles of beer at his feet. "Dude, I was just fucking with you,” he says, “I know what the problem is." Simmons isn’t here and without him, Grif is lost. Seems pretty obvious to him. And Tucker's sympathetic, he really is, but: "Dude, you gotta put up or shut up. Either tell Simmons how you really feel or learn to get over it already."

"Hey, screw you, Tucker," Grif replies, "I don't need this on top of everything else."

Tucker shrugs. "Yeah, well—"

"Tucker?"

York’s voice comes out of nowhere, startling Tucker a second time that day. “Hey,” he says when Tucker twists around in his seat, “Can I have a word with you for a sec?” He glances at Grif as if suddenly realizing he’s there, and a small sheepish smile appears on his face. “Sorry to interrupt."

Tucker cuts in before Grif can say anything. "Nah, he was getting tired of my ass anyway," he says as he gets up from his chair. He checks on Grif anyway to make sure that’s true and receives a look of agreement from the other man. “Yeah. Definitely tired of my ass.”

York huffs in amusement. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

He looks at Tucker and then jerks his head to the right, signaling him to follow him over toward the backyard gate where nobody else is standing. Tucker follows with a shrug; he doesn’t know what this is about, but if he had to guess he’d say Carolina. And if it’s about Carolina, then Tucker’s got a thing or two to say as well.

“Okay, what’s this about, anyway?” Tucker says as soon as they’re away from everybody else, “Because if you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say then you should stop, because I don’t give a fuck.”

York sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "Look, Tucker, I'm not defending what she did," he replies, "But it's not exactly easy for her to accept that her little brother is married to the one person who makes her feel like crap."

"That's not Tex's fault!" Tucker protests, "She can't help being better at everything!"

"I know, but—"

"And Church and Tex aren't responsible for what the Director says either," Tucker snaps back, fuming over the idea that they are, "It's not their fault that he's a douche. If Carolina would just stop _listening_ to him—"

"It's not that easy," York protests, "He's her father—"

"So? Church doesn't have any trouble ignoring him!"

York looks at him evenly. "Carolina isn't Church."

The truth of that sits heavily in the air. It's true, Tucker realizes, in a way that shouldn't have been questioned at all; he _knows_ that Carolina isn't like her brother, he _knows_ that her father can twist her up in a way that no one else can. It's never been easy for her to live up to her father's expectations, and to see Tex do it so effortlessly can't be easy.

But still, she hurt Church. She hurt Church and she did it without even missing a beat, and if it had been Tucker who had done it, Carolina would have made him regret it. And York _knows_ that, so he doesn't get why the guy is all up on his ass about something that Carolina would have done herself.

Tucker raises his chin and decides to say so for himself. “Carolina would have—" he begins, then trails off when he sees the expression on York’s face. It’s solemn and tired and more than a little worried, and Tucker can’t help but feel a smidge of concern.

York stays silent, just looking at him for a long time before finally saying something so unexpected that it steals the air from Tucker’s lungs. "You know, she went to visit her mother's grave this morning," he tells Tucker.

Tucker blinks rapidly. "But she's not due to go for another couple of weeks," he says, confusion taking over for a split second. She only visits it on special days, like Memorial Day or her mother’s birthday. She never goes just because.

So for her to go now...

Tucker frowns.

“I know,” York says. His shoulders slump as he gives Tucker a lost look, eyes going wide and almost pleading. "I don't know what's going on in her head these days. She won't talk to me. I don't think she's talking to anyone."

Tucker studies him for a moment, trying to figure out if it’s as bad as York makes it sound. “No one?” he asks, “What about that pilot friend of hers? Is she talking to her at least?”

“Niner’s on a job right now,” York informs him, “She’s gonna be out of the country for awhile.”

Okay, and the only other option—Church—is obviously out of the question. “So what about…” He thinks fast, searching through their list of friends for a good enough answer. “Uh, what about Maine? Wash told me they’re pretty close at work.”

“If they’ve been talking, neither have told me,” York says. He makes a tiny, somewhat disconsolate sound. “And trust me, I’ve asked. More than once.”

Tucker takes a moment to consider the implications. If Carolina hasn't been talking to anyone but her dead mom's grave, she must be feeling pretty fucked up right now.

But still...

"I wouldn't worry about it," Tucker tells him, "She always gets this way when she's fighting with Church. I mean, she doesn't usually go to her _mom_ , but that's probably just because Niner isn't around to talk to. Just wait, they'll forgive each other in a couple of days and everything will go back to normal.”

York sighs. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” Tucker says in his most confident tone, “But hey, I’ll try talking to her myself, okay?”

York looks quietly, astoundingly relieved. “Would you?” he asks with a sheepish look on his face and hope in his voice, “You might just be the only person she’ll talk to.”

Tucker doubts he’ll get anything out of her, but he doesn’t want to be the one to tell York that. "Yeah, I'll try," he says again, "Don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Tucker," York says warmly, "You're really doing me a huge favor right now."

Tucker shrugs it off as if it were nothing—and maybe it isn't, it's hard to tell; all Tucker knows is that his stomach is twisting into knots as he turns away and begins searching the yard for Carolina.

He finds her deep in conversation with Maine and South. She _looks_ normal to everyone who doesn't know her the way that Tucker does, but there's something off in her body language that casts a shadow over her whole personality. It dims the light in her bright green eyes and sets her mouth tilting downward. Even from a few feet away, it's obvious how down she is.

But then Tucker remembers _why_ she's so down, and a little bit of his sympathy goes away. He stalks forward with a purposeful stride, struggling to make sense of his disparate feelings, his own loyalty to Church going head to head with his concern for Carolina.

And then, just for a moment, she meets his gaze.

Her sharp eyes grab him and won't let go, making him draw to a halt before he can reach her side. Something like a warning flashes within them, making him draw back a couple of steps. Only then does she look away, turning to South and continuing their conversation as though she never saw him at all. Strangely, the sight doesn't fill him with anger or irritation, just a sadness that settles deep into his bones.

Tucker sighs.

It's a relief to see Wash heading his way. Their eyes meet and hold across the room, and as Washington draws nearer and nearer, Tucker concentrates on putting an easy smile on his face. "Hey, Wash," Tucker says brightly.

Wash pauses at the sound of his voice, brow furrowing in puzzlement. He hesitates before reaching out for Tucker, but with his full hands all he can manage is to nudge him gently in the side. Tucker is comforted nonetheless.

"Thanks for getting me a drink," Tucker says, reaching for one of them almost blindly. He cracks it open and downs it like he did back in college, swallowing it in several long gulps. Afterwards, he grins at Wash and debates stealing the other one.

"Are you okay?" Washington asks.

Tucker's grin falters. "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?" Washington says in a low voice, "Because you look..."

"Fucking sexy? Hot as hell?"

"Tired," Wash finishes, "You look tired."

Tucker sighs and gives up on his weak attempts at joking around and pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. "Don't worry about it," he says, "I'm cool. I'm just a little worried about this whole Carolina thing."

Washington studies him for a moment, then silently gives him the other beer. "Tucker, I know they're your family," he says, "But you don't have to get involved if it’s going to be too stressful for you."

"I know that," Tucker says defensively, "And I'm not getting involved! But that doesn’t mean I still can’t get upset, right?”

"With you that's usually the same thing."

Tucker scowls. "Whatever. She's the one getting me involved, anyway, by acting like I don't exist," he tells Wash, still feeling a little sullen, “I didn't even have a chance to talk to her before she started with me."

"And I'm sure your reaction would have been completely mature if you had a chance to speak to her before she started ignoring you," Washington replies.

Tucker glares at him. "You're supposed to take my side."

Wash gives him a reproachful look. "Carolina is my friend too."

"So?" Tucker says, "You're still supposed to take my side."

Washington seems to disagree. He crosses his arms and looks down his nose at Tucker, frowning like Tucker's disappointed him. "And why is that, exactly?" he asks.

"Because I'm the one touching your dick all the time!"

Washington freezes for approximately half a second and then slowly closes his eyes as though pained. "I don't know what kind of an answer I expected," he admits, "But it definitely should have been along those lines."

Tucker snorts. "Uh, _yeah_ , no shit. Who did you think you were talking to, Caboose?"

"No," Wash says, "I _thought_ I was talking to someone rational."

"Well aim lower next time, jackass," Tucker replies.

Washington shoots him a look of exasperation. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“Yeah, but what else are you gonna do?”

"For your information, I have to go pick my parents up at the airport."

Tucker's stomach churns at the news, but he tries his best to keep it off his face. "Just your parents?" he asks casually, "What about your brother and his family? Did they decide not to come or something?"

He crosses his fingers where Wash can't see him, but somehow he gets the impression that Wash must have noticed anyway, because he rolls his eyes in that way he does whenever he's exasperated with Tucker.

"They've been driving all day, so they won't be getting in until the middle of the night," Wash informs him, manfully ignoring Tucker's unconscious sound of disappointment, "Somewhere around twelve or one."

"You sure you've got enough room for them all?" Tucker's about to joke. But then he thinks twice about it when he realizes that he never asked just how many people are coming over. "Wait, how big is your brother's family again?"

Washington blinks and then shifts his gaze away.

Once more, Tucker's stomach twists and turns. "Wash?" he says worriedly, "Seriously, how big is your brother's family?"

"Well, there's my brother and his wife..."

"Yeah, okay," Tucker says, because that much is obvious. The only real question is which brother is coming to visit; if it's the older one, then there's only one kid to deal with. But if it's the younger one...well, Tucker doesn't remember the details, but he knows that he's dealing with more than a couple.

"And then there's his children..."

"Dude, just spit it out," Tucker bursts out. He'd rather get the bad news out as soon as possible. "How many kids does he have, anyway?"

Wash winces. "Three."

Tucker swallows hard and goes very still. So that's, what? _Seven_ people he has to impress? Seven people he can't piss off, accidentally or otherwise. Seven people he has to be on his very best behavior with. Hell, he bets he can't even curse in front of the kids the way that he does Junior.

Great. Tucker is _fucked_.

And even though he’s busy trying to think up a convincing enough argument to talk himself out of this whole big mess, he still manages to distantly notice the way Washington hesitates before reaching out for him. Out of habit, Tucker reaches back.

"You," he says, "Are gonna owe me so many blowjobs for this."

Washington nods in acceptance. "I understand."

* * *

 

Without Wash, the barbecue suddenly gets a hundred times more boring. After awhile, he thinks about talking to Grif again, but he decides against it at the last minute; he's not in the mood to hear more bitching about Simmons, even if it _can_ get pretty funny at times. That leaves about nine or ten people for him to hang out with, and he's just about to choose one of them when Carolina surprises him by stepping into his path.

She gives him a terse nod. "Tucker."

"Carolina," Tucker says warily, "I thought you were ignoring me."

Carolina snorts. "If I were ignoring you, you'd know it."

"I know," Tucker says, "That's kinda why I thought you were doing it."

A tiny smile plays at Carolina's lips, but she continues speaking as though she didn't hear him, asking, "Have you spoken to my brother lately?"

Have _you?_ Tucker wants to say, but he doesn't feel like getting punched in the dick, so he keeps his mouth shut about that. Instead, he decides to tell her the truth: "I spoke to him like an hour ago—”

Carolina cuts him off, her voice level and firm. “And he was alright,” she asks him, though it doesn’t seem like a question. She breathes out slowly and relaxes at the news.

Tucker shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. He kept bitching about me ruining his honeymoon."

"So he actually went through with it,” she says.

"Went through what? The wedding?" Tucker asks, "Uh, _yeah_ , of course he did. What, did you really think he wouldn't just because _you_ didn't show up?"

Her eyes narrow at the pointed wording. For a second, he’s worried that she’s gonna lash out at him, but she thankfully keeps her emotions in check. “I thought,” she says through gritted teeth, “That he’d have more common sense than that.”

Tucker looks at her in disbelief. "More common sense than what? To marry the chick he's been in love with for over a decade? Yeah, that was such a hard decision to make. I don't know how he did it."

"No, I _thought_ he'd have more common sense than to marry a woman who has cheated on him and left him more than half a dozen times.”

Tucker scoffs and waves it off with the total lack of concern he feels. "Big deal. You know how they are," he says, "It's not like Church has a problem with it. Besides, Tex hasn't done that in years."

Carolina glares. "So that makes it okay?"

"Yeah, kinda," Tucker says honestly, "Isn't it up to him to decide what he's willing to put up with in a relationship? I mean, dude, I know he's your brother, but he's still a grown-ass man." York's words come back to him, echoing on his ears. "Let's face it: you're really just mad that Church is marrying the chick who’s better than—"

Tucker stops talking about five seconds too late. Just like that, the mood of the conversation changes, moving from easygoing if tense to something outright confrontational.

"Don't stop there," Carolina says in an ice cold voice, "Finish your sentence."

"Uh,” Tucker says. His mind stalls on that word and he struggles to get it back on track, frantically searching for something to say that won't piss Carolina off. “Uh…no thanks. I'm good."

And that wasn't it.

Carolina's jaw clenches tight, her teeth grinding loud enough for Tucker to hear. "No," she bites out, voice going bitter and angry, "You should say what you were going to say. That she's better than me."

Tucker swallows hard. "Whoa, uh, I didn't—"

"But you were going to."

“Okay,” he blurts out, “But I didn’t mean to? And you’re still better than everybody else!” He peeks to see if it’s working at all and sees that her expression hasn’t changed. “And everyone knows you can kick like ninety-nine percent of the entire world’s ass.”

“But not Tex,” Carolina says.

Tucker winces. He doesn’t mean to, but it kind of says it all. "Look," he says, trying to make things better, “You know no one cares about that but you, right? Everyone else still thinks you're awesome."

Carolina snorts. "Trying to butter me up, Lavernius?"

"Yeah," Tucker says immediately, "Why, is it working?"

She rolls her eyes at him.

Tucker decides to try another tack with Carolina. “They’re happy," he points out, "Seriously fucking happy, okay? So what's the problem?”

“He’ll just be miserable in a couple of months when she leaves him—”

“He’s always miserable!” Tucker protests, “That’s like his thing! He’s always complaining about _everything_.”

“It’s not the same—”

“Yes, it is! Why can't you just let this go!?"

Because it's my job to look out for him!"

No, it's _mine_ , Tucker thinks darkly, much to his own surprise. It startles him into silence at the wrong time, leading Carolina to believe she won this round. The supposed victory has her relaxing a little, and when she speaks again her words aren't filled with anger anymore, just a deep-seated frustration that fills her to the brim.

“If he would just _listen_ to me,” Carolina says, “I wouldn’t have—”

"It's not your decision!" Tucker yells suddenly.

It's like one of those scenes in the movies where the music cuts out just in time for everyone to hear what you're saying. All around them, their friends stop to stare, turning to them like vultures on the hunt for dead meat.

He can tell Carolina hates the attention, because her back stiffens up like it's made of steel, though neither of them look away from the other. Tucker doesn’t know if he wants to see what everybody’s thinking anyway—this is a personal matter, and him yelling about it in public doesn’t change that.

“They’re not gonna go and get divorced because of you, you know,” Tucker says in a lower voice, anger thrumming like a wire that’s almost about to snap, “So you should just hurry up and get over it already, ‘cause the only people you’re hurting are you and Church.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carolina says. Her fists clench as she takes a step forward, causing a spark of alarm to run through him. “And you need to learn how to keep your mouth shut before someone thinks about shutting it for you.”

And with that, she spins on her heel and storms away, long red hair bouncing behind her like a warning light for anyone who wants to draw near.

Tucker can’t do anything but watch her go.

* * *

 

With Wash gone and Carolina mad at him, Tucker really doesn't feel like the rest of the barbecue is worth sticking around for, so he only stays another fifteen minutes before escaping to the comfort of his home.

The house is empty when it’s steps inside. Only Epsilon is there to greet him when he walks through the door, and even that’s only to demand more food. But what the hell, hanging out with a cat is better than nothing, even if he wouldn't have thought so before getting involved with Wash.

Epsilon is good company, anyway, lessening the feel of an empty home. His purring is comforting background music to the sound of the television Tucker listens to until he’s too exhausted to pay attention. Only then does he make his way to his bedroom, trudging toward the master bathroom in order to take the shortest, most efficient shower possible.

Afterwards, Tucker stares up at the stars on his ceiling and desperately tries not to feel alone. But he can’t. He can’t because Junior isn’t sleeping in the next room over and there’s no one next to him to stifle the loneliness.

Wash usually sleeps over on Saturdays.

Well, that's not true. Wash sleeps over _most_ Saturdays, and the only time he doesn't is because Tucker's sleeping over at his place instead. Regardless, every weekend that Junior's away, Tucker usually has Wash by his side.

And now he doesn't.

It feels weird not to hear the sound of breathing next to him. It feels weird to stay awake all night waiting for a sound that never comes. It's stupid and it's depressing as fuck, and Tucker can't believe he allowed himself to get in this situation in the first place.

With a sigh, Tucker takes out his phone, knowing there's only one way that he's going to get any sleep tonight. Carefully, he types out his message, holding his breath that Washington actually responds.

Oddly enough, Wash responds immediately. _I am not doing this,_ he writes, the message somehow coming off as embarrassed as Washington probably feels, _My parents are in the room next door._

_So? They don't care wat ur wearing_

_That's not what I meant and you know it._

Tucker looks up at the starry sky above his head and grins. It has a mischievous edge to it, but there's no one around but him to catch it, which means he can look as sly as he wants to. _I'm not wearing anything,_ Tucker types back.

_I'm not surprised,_ comes the dry reply, _And I'm not impressed by your skills at seduction._

Just for that, Tucker turns the light on and takes a picture of his dick, captioning it with the word "impressed now?" In revenge, Washington does the unexpected and sends him a picture of his own. Tucker stares at it blankly, confusion taking over as he tries to figure out what the point of it was.

_I think u sent the wrong pic, dude. That's some old chick, not ur dick._

_I didn't send the wrong picture,_ Wash returns _, And that "old chick" as you put it, happens to be my mother. WHO IS IN THE NEXT ROOM._

Well, that's a total fucking boner killer. Which, come to think of it, is probably why Washington sent the picture in the first place. Tucker rolls his eyes, then studies the picture thoughtfully. Wash's mother looks kind of familiar, anyway, like a dim reflection of her son; the shape of the face is similar enough, but the eyes and hair are a few shades off in a way that makes them look totally different.

_I was right,_ Tucker types, _She's kinda hot._

_I will pay you money to never say anything like that again._

Tucker smirks. _U could pay me in something else if u want._

_Or you could just keep your mouth shut,_ Washington replies.

Heh. Like that's ever going to happen. Tucker's just about to say so in text when Wash surprises him with an unexpected offer.

_My parents would like you to have dinner with us tomorrow._

Tucker swallows hard. What? So soon? Anxiety begins to build inside of him, stealing the remains of his tiredness. With fumbling fingers, he struggles to type out an excuse. _But Junior's coming home 2morrow._

There's a long pause, as if Washington is hesitating. _I know,_ he finally writes back, _And I would like it if you brought him along. Though,_ he adds a moment later, _I'll understand if you don't want to._

_It's just ur parents, right?_ Tucker asks nervously, _Ur bro & his family r staying at home?_

_Well, I was thinking of bringing one of the kids to make Junior feel a little more comfortable, but yes._

Tucker perks up just a little at the thought of Junior getting someone to play with. _A kid? Cool. Any of them Junior’s age?”_

_My nephew is a few years older, but my niece just turned nine a few months ago._

An older kid? Nah, Tucker’s not gonna fall into that trap again. _Bring the girl. Junior doesn’t mind playing w/ them anyway._ He’s too attention-starved to be picky about something like gender and he’s not so young that he thinks girls are gross. Wash's niece will be fine...provided that _she_ doesn't mind playing with boys.

_Does that mean you're both coming?_

_Yeah,_ Tucker types out, nerves causing the words to come out slowly , _I guess we r._

_Good,_ Washington replies, and it's only Tucker's imagination that it sounds as happy as it does, _Then I suppose we'll all see each other tomorrow._

_Yeah,_ Tucker types again. He pauses, thinking of something else to say, but the only words that manage to come out is a question that he didn't know he wanted answered. _Hey, Wash? Y were u even awake when I texted?_

There's another pause, but this one feels different; more like a held breath than an inhalation. Like he's holding back something big or important. Some feeling that's too difficult to explain.

_The room was too quiet._

Tucker smiles.

He has no problem getting back to sleep after that.

 


	4. Meetings and Preparations (Part 1)

There’s a boy reading a book across the street.

Tucker stares at him from his living room window for two whole minutes before realizing how creepy that is. He notes the age (somewhere around Junior's) and the way he looks (something off about his sandy colored hair) and whether or not he seems like someone Junior could get along with (no clue, but there's still hope).

Maybe, he thinks as he turns away from the window, Junior would like to take a walk across the street to introduce himself to their new neighbors. He's just about to ask when he's distracted by the ringing of the phone.

Junior looks up from where he's watching television but doesn't move to pick it up, so with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Tucker goes to answer it, absentmindedly picking the phone up without checking who it is.

"Hello?"

Like a ray of sunshine, the voice on the other end says brightly, "Hi, Tucker! Long time no hear. Wow, it feels like forever."

“Doc?” Tucker blurts out. Junior's head shoots up at the name. "What are you calling for? Did you want to speak to Junior? He just got back from his mom's, so he's here if you want him."

Junior makes grabby hands at the phone.

Tucker can actually hear the smile in Doc's voice when he speaks. "Well, you know how much I love talking to Junior," he says earnestly, "But I actually wanted to talk to both of you!"

"About what?" Tucker asks, ignoring Junior's grasping hands. He turns his back on his son and starts wandering into the kitchen in search of some privacy, idly switching hands the phone is in.

"Well," Doc says, "I know you have a lot going on right now—"

"What? _How_?"

"I've been speaking to Wash and Donut lately," Doc explains in that cheerful voice of his, "And they've been telling me what's been going on." He pauses to allow a bit of worry in his tone. "Gosh, I hope Grif and Simmons figure out a way to work everything out. It's so weird to hear that those two are fighting—they always seemed really close!"

"Yeah," Tucker sighs, "And they're not the only ones. Theta told Junior he doesn't want to be friends anymore and now they're not talking anymore."

Doc makes a low, upset sound on Junior's behalf.

Tucker nods, forgetting briefly that they're on the phone. "I know. It totally sucks. I'm gonna try to introduce him to other kids in the meantime and hope this whole thing blows over soon."

"I bet it will!" Doc says optimistically, "Those two are the best of friends. You don't just give up on that because you've gone through a few rough times. Just look at you and Wash!"

Tucker makes a face. He's not sure if you could call what happened six months ago a "rough patch," but it's not like Doc was around to witness that whole mess for himself. "Uh, yeah, rough patch. Whatever. Anyway, why'd you call?"

"Oh, wow," Doc says, "I almost forgot! I just wanted to tell you and Junior that I’ve got a long weekend coming up, so I was thinking of making a trip down there to visit everyone this week.”

Tucker's first thought is of Junior and how happy he'll be to hear the news. His second is another story. "Uh, you know Wash's family is here, right?" he tells Doc, "You sure you wanna be here for all that awkwardness?"

"Oh, that's not a problem at all," Doc says, sounding surprisingly cheerful for someone who might bump into his ex-boyfriend's family, "We're still on really good terms. We even give each other non-denominational presents every winter."

Figures _._

"Uh, well, okay," Tucker replies. He turns around and wanders back into the living room, where Junior is squirming on the living room couch, impatiently waiting for his turn on the phone. "Do you wanna talk to Junior now? 'Cause he kinda looks like he's gonna burst if he doesn't get to speak with you in the next fifteen seconds."

Junior scowls at him, but Tucker only laughs.

"Sure!" Doc says, "You know I always want to speak with Junior. Especially since it's been...gosh, has it really been a month since we spoke last? Wow, time sure does fly, doesn't it?"

Tucker snorts. "No kidding."

Sometimes it feels like months are passing by at breakneck speeds. It hardly seems like any time at all since he was a single father of an eight year old. And shit, now he's got a boyfriend and a kid that's turning ten in a couple of months. It's so fucking ridiculous.

“ _Dad_ ,” Junior hisses.

Tucker sighs. "Alright, so I'm gonna hand you over to Junior now, okay?” he says, “Because I really think he’s gonna kill me if I make him wait any longer."

Junior nods as if Tucker wasn't joking, causing his dad to look at him with narrowed eyes. Reluctantly, he hands Junior the phone, passing it to him even though he's no longer sure he wants to.

"Doc!" Junior says happily. No, not happy— _ecstatic_ , in a way, as though it's been an eternity since they last talked. Against his will, he feels himself soften at the sight, even as a twinge of jealousy makes its way into his heart.

Tucker distracts himself by worrying about tonight’s dinner and what the hell he’s going to wear that’ll scream responsible adult to everyone watching. Not that he knows where they’re going or anything. Wash didn't tell him that much.

He pulls out his cellphone to ask.

_Hey, Wash. R we going anywhere fancy 2nite?_

It takes him a few minutes to respond, which means he must've been busy doing other stuff. _No, I wanted a place that had food the kids would eat,_ Washington finally responds, _so I thought we'd go someplace with a kid's menu._

 _Good idea_ , Tucker texts back. He hesitates for a moment, then types the rest of the comment quickly, as if doing so will make it any less pathetic when Wash gets it. _Anything I should know about ur parents?_

_Like whether or not my father has a shotgun?_

_Ha ha,_ Tucker types back sarcastically. Then he thinks of something that has alarm flitting up his spine. _Wait. U didn't get ur freaky special ops ninja skills from ur dad, did u?_

 _No,_ Washington tells him. And then the dick waits a whole minute for relief to set in before sending a text that reads, _I got them from my mother._

Tucker scowls and shoves his cellphone back in his jeans. One quick glance at Junior tells him that he isn't done with his conversation with Doc, but Tucker doesn't care about that nearly as much as he should.

"Hey, Junior," Tucker says loudly, "Do you want to take a walk?"

Junior pauses and places a hand over the receiver, immediately looking at him in suspicion. "I'm _not_ jogging," he says with a frown. He slumps down in his seat as he squints up at Tucker, refusing to even give an inch.

Tucker stares back in exasperation. "Who said anything about jogging?"

The suspicious look doesn't let up.

Tucker sighs, long and deep, because dealing with children is sometimes _exhausting._ "I just thought we could introduce ourselves to our new neighbors," he explains, fighting back another sigh at the look of dismay on Junior's face.

"Oh. They have a kid," Junior states glumly.

"Yup," Tucker replies, keeping his voice as cheerful as possible, "And we're gonna go say hi to him, so get your shoes on and tell Doc goodbye."

"But we're not done talking," Junior protests.

“Big deal. He’s coming over this weekend,” Tucker points out, causing Junior’s eyes to light up. Doc must not have gotten the chance to tell him just yet. Guess they got caught up talking about...whatever it is they talk about together.

“Really?" Junior exclaims. He uncovers the phone and talks excitedly into it. "Doc, are you really coming back home?"

He can't hear what Doc says, but it must be an affirmative, because the sound Junior makes could shatter glass. "Jeez," Tucker says as he rubs his ears, "Think you can scream any louder? Because I'm not bleeding just yet."

Junior either ignores him or doesn't bother listening, too excited by the news to pay attention to something as petty as sarcasm. "This is _awesome_ ," he says enthusiastically, "You can come eat with us again."

It'd be nice if Junior thought about _asking_ before inviting people over, but they both know he would've said yes regardless. He always does whenever Doc is in town. It's practically a tradition that he come over for dinner at least once.

"And then I can show you my skateboarding tricks—"

"Junior," Tucker says, making a 'get on with it already' motion, "C'mon, let's go."

Junior sighs. "Um, I gotta go," he says into the phone, "Dad's making me go say hi to the new kid across the street." Doc says something and Junior glances guiltily down at the floor, nodding in agreement at whatever he said. "I guess...okay...okay....I will. Bye."

He hangs up the phone and then looks at Tucker expectantly. “Shoes,” Tucker reminds him while taking a quick peek out the window to check if the boy is still there, “We should hurry up before he goes inside.”

Junior grumbles and mutters something under his breath.

Tucker cups a hand around one ear, exaggerating the motion so that Junior can’t miss it, “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of sulking.”

Junior’s sulk gets even more prominent. Tucker decides to ignore it for the moment; he’s spent almost ten years learning how to pick his battles and he knows this one isn’t worth it at all. Besides, Junior usually gets excited meeting other kids, even if he thinks it might go wrong. He’ll get over it in no time.

When Junior finally gets his sneakers on, Tucker grabs his keys and leads him out of the apartment at a brisk pace, though Junior tries to ruin it by trailing behind at the speed of a snail. As they walk out onto the sidewalk and begin to cross the street, certain details he didn’t notice start to grab his attention.

Like, for instance, the boy having green hair.

He can tell that Junior notices at the same time Tucker does, because he perks up immediately and picks up the pace until he’s trotting along at his father’s side. “He looks _cool_ ,” Junior breathes.

“Uh, sure,” Tucker says.

They keep on walking until they’re finally standing in front of the boy, blocking out the sun as they hover over him in his position on the front steps.

The boy looks up from the book his was reading. “Hello,” he says primly, without a trace of wariness or suspicion, “Good afternoon.”

"Hey," Tucker says, determined to remain chill and not give away how nervous he is that the two kids might hate each other on sight. He gives a little wave, hoping Junior will back him up by being polite. "We live across the street. We just wanted—"

"How come your hair's green?" Junior blurts out.

Tucker resists the urge to facepalm.

"The chlorine oxidized the copper in our swimming pool and bound to the proteins in my hair, causing it to change colors," the boy explains offhand. Then, when Tucker and Junior stare at him in confusion, he adds somewhat sheepishly, “I looked it up on my computer.”

Junior and Tucker exchange glances.

"That's cool," Tucker says, blustering through. Even if the kid is a nerd, he seems kinda friendly, or at least polite enough to humor them. "So anyway, my name's Tucker, and this is Junior and we live on the second floor of that house."

He half-turns and motions to the yellow house across the street. The kid takes it in with a serious expression on his face, as though Tucker gave him something important to remember instead of just his address.

"Hello," the kid says solemnly, "My name is Delta."

Tucker freezes. "I—wait. _Delta_? Really?"

"Is there a problem?"

Tucker shakes his head. It was more because of the coincidence than anything else. "No, it's cool," he says, "I was just surprised because we know someone named Theta."

"And we have a cat named Epsilon," Junior adds.

"They were kinda named by the same person, though," Tucker says, "My b—" He cuts himself off before he continues. He doesn't want to ruin this for Junior if the family turns out to be homophobes. “My brother.”

Junior’s nose scrunches up as he turns to look up at Tucker. “But you don’t _have_ —” he begins, then stops himself at the look on Tucker’s face.

"Anyway," Tucker says hastily, “We just wanted to introduce ourselves. You know, do that whole Welcome Wagon shi—uh, thing. The whole Welcome Wagon thing.”

“What’s a Welcome Wagon?” Junior asks.

Delta must wear glasses when he's not reading, because he moves to slide an invisible pair up the bridge of his nose, a nervous gesture that Tucker remembers seeing from Jensen.

“I believe he is referring to the organization that brings newly arrived homeowners gift baskets containing coupons from local businesses," Delta tells him, a mild flush rising on his face when both Tucker and Junior gape at him in response.

Junior looks impressed. “Wow. You know _a lot_ , don’t you?”

"What _grade_ are you in?" Tucker asks almost immediately afterwards, words tripping over themselves to get out while they can, "'Cause you don't act like any ten year old that I've ever met before."

“I’m _twelve_ ,” Delta says with a frown. For the first time he seems like normal kid; specifically, the kind that gets upset when someone thinks they’re younger than they really are. Also known as all of them. "And I'm in tenth grade."

"Whoa!" Tucker exclaims, "You're in high school!?"

Junior's eyes get very round.

"I am what many would call advanced for my age group—"

"I'll say," Tucker responds. He tries to imagine a kid Delta's age surrounded by all these students older and bigger than him. It has to be a nightmare. Hell, it would probably be a nightmare even if he _was_ the same age, because someone who acts like Delta does never has it easy. "Dude, your life must _suck._ "

Junior nods immediately, proving that he and Tucker were on the exact same page. "Do they make fun of you a lot?" he asks sympathetically, "Or push you around? ‘Cause other kids try to do that to me all the time."

Delta cocks his head to the side. "Try?"

“I know how to fight now,” Junior tells him smugly.

“'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent,'" Delta quotes, but before Tucker and Junior can get offended, he smiles ruefully and continues, “But I have found, on occasion, that it is preferable to the alternative.”

Junior hesitates, looking uncertain.

“Sometimes violence is necessary,” Delta explains.

"Oh," Junior says, "Yeah. My dad says some assholes need to be told they're being assholes and some assholes just need to be punched in the face."

"I see," Delta says solemnly, “I will take your advice into consideration.”

Tucker grimaces and then promptly tries to pretend he didn’t. “Yeah, you do that,” he tells Delta, nodding his head firmly. He tries to picture this kid defending himself physically and fails. "But, uh, if you ever want to learn how to _really_ defend yourself, call us and we'll hook you up. I mean, if your parents are okay with it."

"Yeah!" Junior says, "We know lots of ninjas!"

Delta blinks twice.

"They're ex-soldiers," Tucker explains. He gives Delta a thoughtful look. "But I wouldn't put it past them to be ninjas, too."

"I understand," Delta tells him, even though it's clear he doesn't. Not _really_ , anyway. Not the way Tucker and Junior meant it. Shit, the kid probably thinks they were exaggerating or joking around. Oh, well. If he sticks around long enough, he'll learn.

"So anyway, we just wanted to say hi and welcome to the neighborhood and shit," Tucker says, holding out a hand for the boy to take. "We'll get out of your hair now and let you get back to whatever you were reading."

"Oh,” Delta says, and Tucker watches as a shadow of disappointment falls over his face. Junior seems to notice it too—he’s always been more observant than people give him credit for—and he moves closer to Delta almost protectively.

“Can I come over and read with you tomorrow?"

Delta's too self-composed to startle, so Tucker does it for him.

"Excuse me?" Delta asks.

"I'm reading The Walking Dead," Junior chirps, "So I can read that and you can read what you were reading and then we could play video games after or something."

Tucker gapes.

Where's the kid who is wary around strangers? Where's the kid who has trouble making friends? Where's the kid who is so convinced that people won't like him that he never bothers trying at all?

Delta hesitates for a second that feels like hours. “I would like that,” he says finally, looking up and meeting Junior’s gaze with a light behind his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Junior beams. "Okay, then. See ya tomorrow!" he says, then goes bounding back to Tucker's side, looking up at him curiously when he doesn't move.

"Right," Tucker says, "Okay, let's go."

They wave goodbye to Delta and turn around, crossing the empty street at a slower pace than they usually would.

“So. He seems...nice,” Tucker hedges.

Junior’s practically glowing as he looks up at him, startling Tucker with the depth of his emotion. “I think he’s _awesome_ ,” he confesses, then pauses long enough to get a thoughtful expression on his face before asking, “Dad? Can I get green hair, too?”

“Uh…” Tucker says, “Maybe that spray on stuff?”

“Cool!” Junior says excitedly, “Can we go get some now?”

Tucker pictures showing up to tonight’s dinner with his son’s hair bright green. “Uh,” he says again, “We can go get them today, but you can’t color it until tomorrow.”

“But—"

Tucker holds up a hand. “Dude, I’m letting you get _green hair_ , okay?” he points out, “I wouldn’t argue if I were you.”

Junior does the smart thing and shuts his mouth, still looking so happy and pleased with the world that Tucker can barely stand to look away. He bounces back and forth from foot to foot as Tucker lets them into the building, then follows him all the way up the stairs until they're both safe and sound in their apartment, But before Junior wanders off in search of some monster movie to watch, Tucker stops him with two quick words.

"Hey, Junior?"

Junior hums a question mark.

"Why do you like Delta so much anyway? You barely know him."

Junior's eyes flit down to the floor, a solemn aura coming over him as though all the happiness has been zapped away. Tucker watches it goes and regrets ever asking, regrets doing anything that keeps his kid down.

"He's _really_ smart," Junior says carefully, "But he didn't act like I was dumb."

And for a kid like Junior, who has spent about seven years of his entire life fighting off douchebags who assumed stuff about his intelligence based on his inability to speak easily...

For a kid like him, that's all he needs.

Huh.

Tucker is starting to think Delta is pretty damn awesome, too.

* * *

 

By the time they finish getting the hair dye from the store, it's almost time for the two of them to start getting ready for tonight's dinner with Washington's parents. Tucker rushes home as fast as he can without breaking any laws, but they barely manage to get in the house by the time the clock strikes six.

"I'm gonna head into the shower first," Tucker says, "You just sit here and...I don't know, watch TV or something. Think about how you're gonna color your hair."

Junior waves him off, so Tucker takes that as an excuse to hop into the bathroom and wash the day's dust off his body. He's in and out before the steam has time to blanket the air and cover the mirrors and windows in the room, a sure sign that he's more nervous than he actually thinks.

He washes his teeth three times to make sure they're white enough, even though he knows that's not how it works, and dries himself off before ducking out of the master bathroom without even a towel. From there, he stands in front of of his closet and thinks.

After fifteen minutes of staring at it without anything happening, he grabs something at random and gets dressed as fast as he can.

"Hey, Junior!" he calls as he looks at himself critically in his full-length mirror, "Can you come in here for a sec?"

Moments later, Junior pops his head inside.

"I kinda need your help," Tucker admits. He waits until Junior sits on the bed to continue. "I know it sounds really fucking stupid and all, but I can't figure out what the fuck to wear tonight."

"Umm..." Junior says.

"I know, I know," Tucker sighs. "Still, help me out, okay?"

"Okay?"

Tucker gives a relieved smile, then holds his arms out like he's presenting himself to a crowd. "So how do I look?"  he asks anxiously, doing a little twirl to show himself off, "Do I look like, you know, a grown up?"

Junior wrinkles his nose. "But you _are_ a grown up."

"Yeah, but do I _look_ like one?" Tucker says. He knows he looks _good_ , but looking mature is a whole different story. He's not really sure he can pull that off. "Do I look like an adult or do I look like the kind of guy who makes sex jokes all the time?"

"Can't you be both?" Junior asks.

"Not tonight, I can't," Tucker mutters. He sighs and turns to look at himself in the mirror, frowning at the image portrayed there. The button down is normal enough, but the addition of a tie sets it apart from his regular date clothes. It makes him look stiffer than he usually is and even more uptight than he actually feels. With a sigh, Tucker takes it off.

Junior's eyes are steady on him. "Do I have to dress up too?"

"Nah, you can just wear whatever," Tucker assures him. He pauses to reconsider that statement, then adds, "As long as it's not ripped or covered in stains. We still wanna make a good impression."

"Why?"

Tucker sits down on the bed next to him. For a long moment, he doesn't speak, silent until Junior leans in and rests his head against Tucker's arm. "Because I want Wash's parents to like me," he admits.

"Why wouldn't they like you?"

Tucker shrugs, eyes flitting down to the floor as he struggles for a way to explain this without sounding pathetic. "Look, _I_ know I'm awesome," he blusters, "And _you_ know I'm awesome, but some people are stupid about shit, you know?"

Junior nods glumly. "I know."

Tucker thought he might, so he knocks their elbows against each other, silently commiserating with him. "Now go take a shower and get dressed, okay?" he tells him, "We've gotta get going in less than an hour."

"Okay," Junior says as he hops off the bed. He pauses once he's at the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a solemn expression. "Hey, dad?"

"Yeah?"

"You look like you stole Mr. North's clothes."

"Junior," Tucker says slowly, "I think that's the nicest thing that anyone's ever said to me."

* * *

 

When Junior finally gets out of the bathroom, he's dressed in his very best pair of jeans and his favorite Avengers t-shirt.

“That’s what you're wearing?" Tucker asks.

Junior pauses and looks at him in exasperation. “You said I could wear whatever,” he says stubbornly, crossing his arms as he gazes up at him, “You _said_ I didn’t have to dress up.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean--you know what?” Tucker says, “Nevermind. I’ve got more important things to worry about than whether or not you look the part.”

“Look _what_ part?” Junior demands to know.

Under his fierce gaze, Tucker begins to lose track of what he was saying. “You know, the...the son part,” he exclaims clumsily, “The kid of a responsible parent thing. Like the kind of kid who wears polo shirts and khaki pants.”

Junior frowns in confusion.“I don’t _have_ any polo shirts,” he points out, “You said they made people look like dorks.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but—”

“I don’t want to look like a dork!”

Tucker pinches the bridge of his nose, a habit he picked up from Washington somewhere along the way. “Okay, whatever,” he says just to get this conversation done with, “You can look cool with your Avengers shirt.”

Junior looks at him suspiciously, only letting up after some time has passed without Tucker abruptly changing his mind. “Okay,” he echoes, then says grudgingly, “I could wear my special pants.”

“The ones you wear when we’re going someplace nice?”

Junior nods.

Tucker makes a face halfway between a grimace and an expression of gratitude. “Dude, don’t bother,” he tells Junior, “It’ll only look funky with your t-shirt. But thanks for offering.”

Junior shrugs. To him it doesn't matter if it'll look funky at all, just that he's wearing something he's supposed to. "I've got to go put on my sneakers," he informs Tucker, then pauses and asks, "Can I bring my 3DS?"

"For the car, yeah," Tucker responds, "Not for dinner."

"I know," Junior says earnestly, "I'm supposed to be on my best behavior."

Tucker nods in approval. He already promised himself that if he and Junior pull this whole thing off, they'll do something special as a reward, like drive all the way to Six Flags when all this is over.

"Great," Tucker replies, knowing just how inane that sounds.

He looks in the mirror one last time, reassuring himself that everything looks alright, then turns to Junior and does the same, searching his shirt for any dirt or conspicuous food stains. He finds nothing, so he tries to calm down, telling himself that everything will be fine.

"Okay," he says after collecting himself for a second, "Ready to rock this evening?"

Junior has the decency to give him a high five.

"Then let's go."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having a bit of trouble finishing this chapter, so I decided to cut it in half and post what I had. Expect the next part relatively soon. Thanks for your patience!


	5. Meetings and Preparations (Part 2)

Despite leaving fifteen minutes earlier than they had to, Tucker still manages to be late for dinner.

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” he says when he gets to their table, “We had to stop because I forgot to fill up the gas tank and then there was an accident that backed up traffic and then—"

Wash’s parents look taken aback by the deluge of words, which only makes Tucker wince even harder. He hovers a little by Wash’s chair, uncertain of whether he should sit down yet or not, but feeling more and more stupid the longer he waits. Junior makes the decision moot by climbing into one of the two chairs left to them--specifically the one next to Wash’s niece, not hiding between Wash and Tucker.

He must still be riding the high from Delta.

Even Wash seems surprised to see it. His eyebrows fly up at the sight, a reaction that has his parents looking over at them in confusion and curiosity. “It’s fine,” Washington says, not sounding upset at all. Distracted, maybe, but not upset. “You’re only about ten minutes late.”

“Yeah, but...” Tucker begins before trailing off. But you had to start without us, he wants to say, looking down at the drinks and appetizers they already delivered. And Tucker was supposed to be doing everything right tonight.

Everyone waits patiently for him to finish his sentence.

Tucker feels himself flush a little. “Nevermind,” he mutters under his breath, then takes a deep breath and plops down in the seat next to Wash and Junior, waving his hand awkwardly at Washington’s family. “Uh, hi.”

He takes a moment to look at them all. Wash’s mom is brown haired, like he was once told, but she shares the shape of Wash's face and his pretty grey eyes, while Wash’s dad looks nothing like him except for the blond hair that’s starting to show grey at the edges. They let him take them in without a word, probably doing their own studying, but being more subtle about it.

He hopes they like what they see so far, but there's no way of telling except for looking at Wash for some sign or clue, and Tucker's not entirely sure he wants to know what the answer is. Better to be in the dark for this one.

Out of nowhere, Wash randomly nudges him in the side, startling him into jumping a foot in the air. "What the f—" he hisses, then quickly replaces the word he was going to say, "...heck? What the heck?"

Wash gives him an exasperated look and pointedly jerks his head to the side. Tucker follows his gaze to where Wash's parents are staring at him with an unimpressed look on their face, and it's only then that Tucker notices the hand Wash's father is offering to him.

Tucker wipes his hands on his pants before taking it. “Hi,” he repeats awkwardly. He almost adds the word sir to the end of it before deciding that would make him too much of a kiss-ass. “I’m, uh, I’m Tucker.”

“I’m John,” Wash’s dad replies in a deep voice. He has an almost too-firm grip as he shakes Tucker’s hand, but there’s something friendly about him that seems familiar. It hits him suddenly that this is what it was like when he first met North, who turned out to be a scary ex-sniper for the government.

Tucker fights the urge to shiver.

“And I’m Miranda,” his mom says is a lilting tone. She has a southern accent that neither John nor Wash share, soft and comforting in a way that’s nothing like the Director’s, though her grip is just as tight as her husband’s.

“Nice to meet you,” Tucker responds.

His eyes drift over and down to the one member of the family that he has yet to meet: Washington’s niece. The one they brought along to keep Junior company. He studies her for a moment, marveling at the look of her, wondering at how someone can seem so familiar and yet be a total stranger. It’s strange, because the little girl has dark brown curls and dark brown eyes, but the shape of her eyes and the set of her jaw reminds him of Wash for some reason, a resemblance that makes him want to smile.

She looks up at him with narrowed eyes.

"My name is Annie," she says defiantly. Her chin comes up as if she expects him to disagree with her, and maybe she does, because her grandparents sigh as though this is an argument they’ve had multiple times.

“Her name is _Hannah_ ,” Miranda corrects, “She just wants to be _like_ Annie.” She smiles ruefully over at her granddaughter, shaking her head as though she finds something amusing. “She’s been obsessed with that movie ever since she saw it.”

Junior's face scrunches up in confusion. "But you can't be like Annie," he says before Tucker can stop him, "Annie's _black._ "

Wash opens his mouth to point out the obvious, but quickly shuts it at Tucker's look. The kids don't notice, too caught up in their potential argument to care about something as petty as facts.

"So?" Annie replies, "She's still cool."

"Yeah, but—"

Tucker interrupts him by draping his arm across the back of Junior's chair, waiting for him to look up before catching his eye and nodding down at his shirt. "You wanna be like the Avengers, right? And they're white. So Annie can want to be like whoever she wants."

Junior considers that while Annie beams at Tucker with a smile so much like Washington's that Tucker is immediately charmed. He holds out a hand for her to take, solemnly shaking it when she does.

"My name's Lavernius," he confesses, "But everyone calls me Tucker."

"Even your mom and dad?"

“Nah, my mom calls me Vern,” Tucker explains, “But no one else does."

Annie nods knowingly.

"My name's Lavernius, too," Junior blurts out suddenly.

When they turn to him in surprise, it’s to the sight of him looking awkward and left out among the group. Tucker reaches out and squeezes his shoulder in a gentle reassurance. “He doesn’t go by it, either,” he tells Annie, “He only goes by Junior. Like, even his _teachers_ call him that.”

Annie looks wistful. "I wish my teachers called me Annie."

"Hannah's a perfectly good name," John says, looking down at her reprovingly. He mirrors Tucker by wrapping an arm around Annie's shoulder, tugging her in until she's leaning into his side. "It was your great-grandmother's name and she used it her whole life."

Annie makes a face that Tucker kinda wants to laugh at, but he doesn't because he's trying to make a good impression on her grandparents. "I _know_ , Granddad," she sighs,  "You told me like a jillion times."

And before John can open his mouth to say anything else, Annie pulls away and flawlessly changes the subject on him by turning to Junior and saying loudly, "I like superheroes, too. Who do you like best? Because I like Bucky."

"I like the Black Widow."

They eye each other distrustfully, as though the choice the other made could make or break their relationship. “I _guess_ that’s okay,” Junior finally grumbles. "He was pretty awesome when he fought Captain America."

"And I liked the Black Widow in The Winter Soldier," Annie offers almost grudgingly. They narrow their eyes at each other for one more moment, then abruptly seem to let go of any sour feelings. "We can watch it on my iPad—"

" _After_ dinner," Miranda reprimands, "You know the rules."

"No iPads at the dinner table," Wash quotes.

"Or cellphones or video games," Miranda continues for him, "And that goes for everyone." She puts her hands on her hips and looks at them all sternly, lips curving up and betraying the fact that she's just teasing them all for kicks.

Or maybe not, Tucker thinks as he watches Wash turn off his phone. He quickly puts his own on vibrate, then shoots a look at Junior, silently telling him to do the same.

"But what if Aunt Carolina calls me?" Junior says in a whisper. His big brown eyes stare pleadingly up at his father, resembling Bambi in the worst of ways.

Tucker lowers his voice to match. "It's cool, dude," he says reassuringly, "If she calls and you miss it, then you can just return it later before bed."

Junior hesitates. "But she didn't answer when I called her before."

Tucker's eyes narrow at the news. "Did you call her on your cellphone or at home?" he asks, feeling his shoulders stiffen in anger. It's one thing to jerk around Church or Tucker, but another thing entirely to bring Junior into it.

"Um...at home."

Tucker relaxes. "Oh," he replies, "Then she probably thought it was me calling her." He pats Junior on the shoulder and lets the tension ease from himself. "Don't worry, she'll definitely answer if she knows it's you."

"Okay," Junior says, face smoothing away the worried wrinkles. He smiles up at Tucker before grabbing a menu and flipping it open to stare at it curiously, eyes trailing over the first page before frowning and turning to the next.

"Kid's menu is usually on the back," Tucker reminds him.

Junior sits straight up in his chair, looking scandalized. He darts a quick look at Annie before looking back at Tucker, squirming in his chair like he can't sit still. "I don't need the kid's menu!" he exclaims, "I can eat regular food!"

Tucker raises his hands defensively. "Whoa, okay!"

"Nobody said you can't eat regular food," Wash cuts in, earning curious glances from his parents, who eye him as if seeing a different side of him. "We just thought you'd prefer eating chicken nuggets or spaghetti."

Junior wavers visibly. "They have nuggets?"

Tucker flips to the back to check. "Yup," he says after he scans the page, "And they have like seven different dipping sauces, too. You can get 'em all and go buck wild."

Annie perks up at the sound of that. "Cool. Can I get them all, too?"

"You can get _one_ ," Miranda tells her firmly.

Her granddaughter sulks in response and whips her menu up to hide her scowl from prying eyes. "She can have some of mine," Junior offers after an uncomfortable moment has passed, "I can share."

The menu drops down again, revealing Annie's hopeful gaze.

Miranda smiles kindly at Junior, who smiles back uncertainly. "Well, then, I suppose that's okay," she says, "If you're sure about it."

Junior nods. "I am."

Annie sits up up straight with an eagerness on her face that's probably visible for miles. "And I can share my Bertie Botts' Beans with him!" she proclaims. Under everybody's curious gaze, she fishes a box out of her pocket and places it on the table.

"Isn't that the stuff from Harry Potter?" Tucker asks her, leaning over to get a closer look, "The ones that taste really gross and stuff?"

"Uh huh," Annie says brightly, "My dad got me some before we came."

"Cool," Junior breathes, "I didn't know they were for real." He turns a hopeful look on Tucker, who sighs and cocks his head to the side.

"Yeah, okay," he tells Junior, "We can get some. But only if they're not expensive."

Junior beams.

"Do you wanna try?" Annie offers. When Junior nods eagerly, she opens the box and shakes out a few into her hand. "No looking at the box first!"

Junior nods and carefully reaches for one at random, popping it into his mouth without a moment of hesitation. Upon tasting it, his nose scrunches and he makes a disgusted face, causing Annie to burst into giggles.

"It tastes _good_ ," he says, sounding betrayed.

The look on Annie's face immediately turns disappointed. "Aw," she says, "But that means somebody else has to try it until we get a bad one." She glances around the table until she comes across her unwilling victim, staring dead at Tucker with eager eyes.

"Ohhhh, no," Tucker responds to her unasked question, "No, no no. Not doing it."

"Please?" she answers, sending doe eyes his way. Tucker gets a sinking feeling in his chest, especially when Junior spots what she's doing and immediately copies her, a familiar glint in his eyes that only comes out when he's playing Tucker.

"Please, Dad?" Junior begs.

Tucker sighs. "I'm only eating one."

"Uncle David can do one after," Annie promises.

He pauses. Okay, _that_ might be worth it.

Tucker reaches out and picks one of the more innocent colors out of the bunch: a dark red bean that looks kind of tasty, with little black spots on it he hopes means nothing. Assuming it’s cherry or something like it, he pops it into his mouth without a second thought, knowing the second he bites into it that he was horribly, horribly wrong.

It tastes...

Gross is the only word he can think of. Like a strange mixture of dirt and raw beets. The chewiness of the jelly bean only makes it worse, adding a texture to the taste that makes him want to gag.

The kids crack up at the look on his face.

He swallows as fast as he can, one hand grasping for the glass of water that Wash is handing to him sympathetically. “What was that?” he says after he takes a few gulps, “It tasted...weird. Kinda earthy.”

Junior’s eyes light up at the comment. "You guessed it!"

"Guessed what?" Tucker asks warily.

"The flavor!" Annie pipes up, beaming at him all the while, "You were eating earthworm!"

Tucker freezes. Beside him, Wash chokes and gives a little snorfle, like he can't help but laugh at Tucker's misfortune. Even Wash's dad chuckles at the sight. "Wouldn't have blamed you if you had spit that out into your napkin," he says.

Tucker blames the fact that he was just tricked into eating something that tasted like earthworms for what he says next. "Nah," he blurts out, "It’s okay. I never spi—"

Washington kicks him under the table, but it’s too late. Wash’s mom promptly chokes on the soda she was in the middle of drinking and his dad immediately gets an extremely sour look on his face. Tucker himself burns in embarrassment.

Annie leans over and cups her hand around Junior’s ear, unfortunately whispering loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. “What’s going on?” she asks curiously, “Why’s everyone acting _weird_?”

Junior looks pleased to be able to answer. "I think my dad made a sex joke again," he explains, "That's how everyone usually acts when he does that."

"Oh," Annie says, extremely bemused, "What was the joke?"

To everyone's relief, Junior only shrugs.

An awkward silence fills their table, luckily broken by the sight of the waitress coming over to their side to take their orders. "Oh, thank God," Washington mutters at the same time as his mom.

Tucker busies himself with looking at the menu in search of something he can order. He wants something good enough to prevent him from talking any more, but he doubts he's gonna find it at a place like this.

The waitress gives them a smile when she reaches their side. "Good evening," she says in a friendly voice, "Are you folks ready to order right now?"

Everyone dives on that question immediately.

"Yes," Tucker blurts out.

"Absolutely," Miranda says at the exact same time, followed by her husband nodding emphatically and Washington looking incredibly relieved. The kids, not knowing what's going on, merely stare at the adults in baffled curiosity, then glance at each other as if hoping the other knows what's going on.

The waitress looks a little taken aback by their eagerness. "Alright," she says, recovering quickly, "Who wants to start?"

Tucker has no idea what he orders, nor what the others pick out for themselves. He just kinda tunes everything out for a second, and when it's his turn, he points to the menu at random and hopes he gets something good. The only times he checks back in mentally is when Junior is ordering, and that's only to make sure he gets a side of steamed broccoli, something that has Junior looking at him in horror.

"What, did you think I forgot about that whole vegetable thing?"

" _Yes_ ," Junior sulks. Annie looks at him in sympathy, which seems to mollify him a little, but not enough to keep him from pouting all the way through the wait for dinner. It's only when it finally comes that Junior cheers up, a smile coming over his face as he shoots a pleased look at the many dipping sauces.

"Maybe you could try dipping the broccoli in them, too," Wash suggests, throwing the suggestion out hesitantly, as though he's preparing for Junior to be mad at him for suggesting the whole vegetable thing in the first place.

Junior looks like he's considering it.

To his own surprise, Tucker finds himself smiling. Something about the normalcy of the moment calms him down,  and he begins to relax his aching shoulders for the first time since he said...for the first time all night.

"You should try it with ranch dressing," Tucker suggests, "Or blue cheese."

Junior tilts his head. "Which one's the blue cheese?"

"And why is it called blue?" Annie asks, "'Cause none of these ones are that color."

Tucker and Wash exchange glances, having a silent conversation over whether or not to tell the truth. "It's one of the white ones," Tucker says finally, "And it's blue because it's got, like, mold or something in it."

"Ewww," Annie says in disgust.

"Gross," Junior says in delight. He spears a piece of broccoli on his fork and looks back and forth between the two similar colored dressings, clearly debating which one to try first.

Annie leans over to peer at the dip. "Can I try one, too?"

Miranda surprises him by chuckling, causing Tucker and the kids to turn toward her in shock, startled to have her enter the conversation. " _You_ willingly eating broccoli?" she says teasingly, "I never thought I'd see the day."

Tucker could’ve told her that it was a bad idea to draw attention to that fact, but he doesn’t need to, because Annie immediately turns a scowl her grandmother’s way. "I'm not!” she denies emphatically, “I just wanted to try with the nuggets!”

As if to prove her point, she grabs a nugget with her bare hands and jabs it into the nearest sauce, then pops the whole thing into her mouth without even asking which dip it is.

Within seconds, Annie’s eyes bug out. She grabs for her drink with a pained expression, muttering, “Hot hot hot,” under her breath like a chant until the water finally reaches her tongue. Everyone stares, wide eyed, as she gulps the glass down.

John peers over and takes a look at the sauce, carefully dipping the edge of his knife in before capturing the tiniest amount. He tastes it with a wary look on his face, then winces a little at what he finds.

"Tastes like horseradish to me."

Well, fuck. Tucker makes a face, then looks at Annie in sympathy. "What kind of restaurant has horseradish dipping sauce for their nuggets?" he says, "That's just fucked, dude."

" _Language_ ," Miranda reprimands.

"Uh, sorry," Tucker replies, and he actually is. His mother is the same way when it comes to cursing, especially around "impressionable ears." Hell, she heard Junior call someone an assmunch when he was five years old and Tucker _still_ hasn't lived it down. “Junior, you might wanna stay away from— _no_ , dude, seriously, put that nugget down. You do _not_ want to try that.”

“Maybe I do,” Junior says stubbornly.

“Uh-huh,” Tucker replies, completely unimpressed by his bravado, “Hey, do you remember that time you accidentally ate wasabi? Because it’s kinda like that.”

And just like that, Junior’s hand withdraws itself.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tucker responds, "You should probably stick to the other flavors tonight."

"I'd listen to your dad on this one," John says with a chuckle. He meets Tucker's eyes over the table, and to his surprise they’re not filled with censure or distaste. “That stuff sure can pack a wallop."

Tucker hesitantly smiles back. Under the table, Wash’s hand reaches for and grasps his own, squeezing it tightly in that way that Wash knows is comforting to him.

"In fact, I remember when David was a teenager, he thought it'd be smart to—"

Tucker's phone vibrates with a message, interrupting whatever John was going to say. "Shi—uh, sorry," he says quickly, flushing as he fumbles for his phone. He remembers how serious Miranda was about no technology at the table. "Let me just turn it—"

He blinks hard and stares down at his phone as another message comes in and then a third seconds after that.

"Sounds important," Miranda says evenly.

"Yeah, uh...just give me a second," he tells everybody, and under Wash's parents slightly reproving look, Tucker goes to look at his messages. The first is from Carolina, and reads, _"Are you responsible for this?"_

Tucker gives the phone a confused look.

The second and third are from Church, which says, _"Someone told the Director that Tex & I got married & now he wants to have a dinner to welcome her into the family. C is pissed," and: "It's tomorrow at five. Attendance is mandatory."_

And then, finally, he gets one more message before shutting down his phone: " _That means you have to bring Wash."_

"Oh, shit," Tucker blurts out before he can stop himself. The Director _hates_ Wash. He has ever since he found out that he and Tucker were dating. Which means, like, half the people there are gonna want somebody dead.

Suddenly, Washington nudges him in the side, and when Tucker turns his way he's greeted by a worried expression and sympathetic eyes. In fact, all the adults sort of look that way, which makes him wonder what kind of look must be on his face.

"What's wrong?" Wash asks urgently, "Did something happen?"

Tucker shakes his head. "No, it's just...uh—"

"Was it Aunt Carolina?" Junior questions with a sympathetic nod, "You always look that way when you're in trouble with her."

"I'm not in trouble with her!" Tucker says. No more than usual, anyway. "I just got some weird news, that’s all.” When the rest of the table looks at him expectantly, he shakes his head, silently telling them he's not gonna continue. After a moment, the conversation changes to something less complicated to explain.

"So," Miranda begins, "David never told us you have a sister,"

Tucker blinks, then turns to Wash with a baffled expression. “Uh...that’s because I don’t?” he says almost uncertainly, wondering how they got to that idea in the first place. It sure as hell wasn’t anything Tucker said.

But then it clicks that Junior called her _Aunt_ Carolina.

“Oh. She's not my sister,” Tucker says, dismay and discomfort heavy in his voice. It feels like a betrayal to say that now, especially after finding out that Carolina doesn’t agree, but the fact remains that it’s not a lie and it will never be a lie in any way except metaphorically.

Miranda’s brow furrows for a moment before her expression clears. “Ah, so she's Junior's aunt on his mother's side," she says in realization, "Your former sister-in-law."

Tucker scratches his head. "Uh, actually she's not my sister-in-law either. She's just a family friend." He waits a beat, then continues awkwardly. "His mother and I were never married."

"I was a one night stand," Junior explains helpfully, "In a truck stop."

Tucker closes his eyes. Beside him, he can hear the sound of a hand slapping against flesh and figures Wash is probably facepalming. He can't tell for sure, but that's what he'd be doing if the situation was reversed.

"Junior?" Tucker says in a deep, controlled voice. He opens his eyes and meets his son's gaze, watching as his eyes go wide with worry.

Junior winces. "Um, yeah?"

"Remember what I told you about things you don't say in front of company?"

"Uh-huh."

"That was one of them."

"Oh," Junior says, sounding extremely guilty.

Tucker sighs. This is gonna be a long night.

* * *

 

The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch, which unfortunately doesn't make up for the awkwardness that happened in the beginning, though Tucker tries his best not to think about it. Still, it's a relief when it's finally time to go home.

"Do you remember how to get there?" Wash asks his parents as they all finish their coffee and dessert, "Or do you need me to put my address into the GPS?"

"Wait, what?" Tucker blurts out, "Aren't you going home with them?"

"No," Wash says evenly, "I'm going home with you."

Oh shit, Tucker thinks for a second of panic, he's gonna break up with me for that blow job comment. "Nah, it's cool," Tucker says in a rush, "You should probably spend more time with your family. You know, to bond and shit."

"Language," Miranda admonishes him again, sending a pointed look the kids' way.

"Fuck, sorr— _shit_ , I mean...uh..."

"Don't strain yourself," Wash says drily, "And I'm coming. End of story."

"Okay," Tucker sighs. He shifts uncomfortably and his knee bumps against Wash's under the table. The press of it soothes away some of his nerves, enough to last him through what's left of the meal.

When the six of them part ways at the restaurant door, Annie and Junior are the only ones who look satisfied with how the evening has gone, and even that disappears once they realize how eager everyone else is to leave.

"C'mon, Junior," Tucker says, "Time to go home."

"Okay," Junior says easily enough as he comes over to Tucker's side immediately, "Goodbye, Annie. Goodbye, Mr. And Mrs. Washington."

Wash's parents smile down at him. "Goodbye, Junior," John replies, and Miranda adds, "It was nice to meet you." Her smile doesn't waver as she turns her gaze to Tucker, which shows a certain amount of self-control that's kind of impressive. "It was nice to meet _both_ of you."

She's a better liar than Wash is, that's for sure.

"Yeah, it was, uh...cool to meet you guys too," Tucker says politely, before remembering there was one meeting that wasn't so bad. He turns to Annie with a teasing smile. "Even if you made me eat gross jelly beans."

Annie giggles. "Bye, Mr. Tucker. Bye, Junior."

"Bye, Annie," Tucker responds, waving at her as she backs away. He watches silently as Wash hugs his parents and tells them he'll see them later, trying not to listen when they lean in close and whisper something to each other.

Tucker leans down close and mutters something only for Junior's ears. "What are the odds that they're talking about us?"

“Um,” Junior says, “Maybe they aren’t?”

Wash glances back at Tucker and then turns around and says something to his mom.

“Oh,” Junior says.

“Yeah,” Tucker replies grimly, “Oh, man, the ride home’s gonna suck.” He places a hand on Junior’s head and ruffles his hair. “Don’t freak out if we don’t say much, okay?”

“Okay, dad,” Junior responds.

When Wash is done saying his goodbyes, he follows Tucker and Junior to the car, walking by their side like a family who’s currently going through a rough patch. Tucker’s shoulders stay tight through it all, wanting Wash to say something about his many missteps while hoping that he doesn’t say anything in front of Junior. To his relief, he gets at least one of his wishes, and just like Tucker predicted, the ride home is as quiet as can be.

Junior flounces off the minute they open the door. "I'm gonna go call Aunt Carolina," he tells them over his shoulder, saying goodnight only after Washington does. He gives Tucker one quick glance before disappearing down the hall, sending a worried look his way.

The tension must have been getting to him.

"Want me to call you a cab?" Tucker asks casually, determined to act like everything is okay, "Or are you staying the night? ‘Cause that's cool too, but I'm beginning to think I should give you room in my closet."

"No...Tucker, we should—"

" _Fine,_ " Tucker interrupts, because if he has to hear Wash say, 'we need to talk about this' again then he's gonna scream. He flops down on the couch petulantly, doing his best to ignore Wash when he settles down next to him. "Fine, let's talk about whatever."

Washington hesitates before diving right in. "So...tonight wasn't that bad, was it?"

"No way," Tucker lies, "I mean, it's not like I told your parents that I prefer to swallow or anything." His eyes slam shut on a wince at the memory, one hand coming up to rub at his forehead. "Fuck. _Fuck._ "

Way to make a good impression.

"That _was_ the low point of the evening," Wash says drily. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, weariness evident in the slump of his shoulders. "Look, Tucker.”

“...yeah?” Tucker says when Wash doesn’t continue.

“I don’t know what to say,” Wash admits.

Tucker slumps down further on the couch. “Great,” he sighs, “Just fucking great. I always wanted to know what it was like to piss off someone’s parents in six words or less.”

“They weren’t pissed off,” Washington argues, “They were just...a little surprised, that’s all. I’m sure they’ll forget about it in no time.” His eyes skitter away when Tucker looks at him, unable to keep the falsehood up for even a second.

Tucker groans. "Ugh, I'm totally screwed."

Wash gives him a sympathetic look, but Tucker's not in the mood for pity. He practically throws himself off of the couch trying to get away from Washington, not wanting the comfort of his closeness right now.

"I told you I would fuck things up," Tucker says as he paces in front of the couch, "I told you I say a lot of dumb shit. I should've just kept my fucking mouth shut all through dinner."

"Tucker..."

"No, shut up, Wash," Tucker replies. He shakes his head sharply, cutting off whatever Wash was going to say next. "I messed up. I know I did. You don't have to fucking sugarcoat things for me."

“Alright,” Washington says, startling Tucker.

Tucker looks at him suspiciously. “Alright?”

“Alright, you screwed up,” Wash replies evenly. He stares at Tucker for a long moment, no hint of emotion on his face or in his eyes. It casts a chill up Tucker’s spine, the cold spike turning his whole body numb.

“What?” Tucker croaks.

“You screwed up,” Washington repeats, "You said something that was in no way appropriate to any situation, least of which one involving my parents and two young children."

Tucker gapes. Hurt spears through him at the same time as dismay; he wonders if Wash was just biding his time, wonders if he spent all night just waitingfor a chance to tell Tucker what he thought of him.

"You screwed up," Washington says again, though he says it slower this time, as if trying to beat the point to death as painfully as possible, "And even though you did, it wasn’t the end of the world."

Tucker blinks hard in confusion. "Uh...what?"

"Things aren't hopeless yet," Wash informs him. He smiles wryly when Tucker does nothing but stare at him in disbelief—a small smile, but one that's there nonetheless. "The week's not over. You've still got plenty of time to make a better impression."

Tucker's not so sure. Everyone knows that the first impression is the only one that counts and nothing Tucker can do or say after this will make them easily forget about him giving their son blowjobs.

Tucker groans.

Washington sighs, sounding weary about everything in the entire world. "Listen," he tells Tucker as he stands, "I can't stay around any longer. They're expecting me back home soon." He pauses and lets his hand drift over Tucker's hair. It's not as comforting as it used to be. "I'll try to talk to you tomorrow if we have time."

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Wash about tomorrow night's dinner, but Tucker keeps his mouth shut about it in the end. Wash probably won't want to go, anyway, too busy getting caught up with his own family to worry about anyone else's.

"Okay," Tucker says instead, "Talk to you then."

Wash nods. He hovers for a moment, looking as though he wants to say something, eyes steady and searching as he looks into Tucker's own.

"What?" Tucker asks warily, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Washington shakes his head. "Nevermind," he says, sounding oddly quiet. He clears his throat and the look leaves his face as quickly as it arrived, a smile spreading in its place.

Tucker frowns. "Wash?"

"It doesn't matter," Washington says. He ducks his head down and steals a kiss before Tucker even knows what's happening, the force of it making Tucker's eyes go wide even as his lips respond to the familiar press of Wash's mouth.

"Whoa," Tucker says minutes later, "What was that for?"

"For trying," Wash says, "Even though it's hard for you."

"Dude, that's it? That's all I have to do?"

Washington huffs in amusement, laughing at some private joke that only he knows. "That's right," he agrees easily enough, "All you have to do is try."

Try, huh?

"Yeah," Tucker says, "I think I can do that."

 


	6. Making Mistakes

Tucker has to go to work the next day, so he misses Delta and Junior’s playdate, but somehow it still feels like he was really there. Maybe it's because of his own hopes for their friendship, or maybe Junior's enthusiasm is just really catching, or maybe, just _maybe_ it’s because Junior texts him the entire time.

_Delta said he liked my hair!! :)_

_Delta said he liked the sandwhiches Sheila made for us for lunch_

_Delta said he's never seen the walking dead. Can he come over and watch it???_

_Only if his parents say he can,_ Tucker replies during his lunch break, _bcuz I don't want Sheila 2 b arrested 4 kidnapping._

_Delta doesn't HAVE parents just a grandma and she doesn't care_

Tucker frowns at that, unsure of whether to take Junior at his word or not. He knows that kids can sometimes get excited and exaggerate little details like having permission, but Delta doesn't seem like the type of kid to go along with that sort of thing.

_Did u ask her?_ Tucker types carefully.

_Delta did and she said yes. Can he come over pleeaase??_

Tucker thinks about it for a second _. If Sheila says yeah,_ he responds. She's the one who'll have to babysit them both, after all. He waits a moment for Junior to reply, but after a few minutes of silence, he gives up on hearing anymore news—either Sheila said yes, in which case Junior's probably too excited to talk, or Sheila said no, in which case he's too sulky to talk. Either way means Tucker will be getting a reprieve from the endless comments about what Delta said.

Tucker finally puts his phone away. “Hey, do you think I should tell Wash about tonight's dinner with the Director," he asks the rest of the table, "or should I just keep it to myself like I did yesterday?"

Simmons voice is shrill when he responds. "You can't just fucking change the subject like that!" he squawks. “You were supposed to be helping me decide what to do!”

Tucker rolls his eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure. So I'm really supposed to just sit here for the whole fucking meal and help you figure out whether you should go to the movies _or_ a restaurant or to the movies _and_ a restaurant?"

"Yes!"

Tucker scoffs.

"Simmons, how many times do I have to tell you that no one cares about your stupid date?" Grif asks testily. He stabs at his meal with a fork instead of eating it, which is so unlike him that they all stop to stare.

Donut hesitates, looking worried. "Are you feeling okay, Grif? You seem a little..."

Caboose looks around when Donut doesn't finish his sentence, a blank look on his face that shows how clueless he is on what everyone else already picked up. "A little what?" he asks the table at whole.

Tucker ignores him. "Seriously,” he says, waving down at the container in front of Grif, “what the fuck is up with you? ‘Cause this shit’s just _weird._ ”

"Nothing's up with me!" Grif snaps.

Yeah fucking right. The only one at the table who has a chance of believing that is Caboose, and even _he’s_ looking a little doubtful.

“Well, you’re sure as shit not okay,” Tucker points out. "Otherwise you’d have been done with your lunch and already started on mine.” Or more likely Simmons and Donut’s, because they actually bring stuff that isn’t leftover take-out and peanut butter sandwiches.

Grif glares, but Simmons looks like someone hit him over the head with a two by four. He blinks hard and looks down at Grif’s half-eaten meal as though seeing it for the first time, jaw dropping as he realizes that they’re right.

“Grif,” Simmons begins anxiously.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Grif bites out.

“No, you’re not!” Simmons denies. His hands hover in the air for a moment like he wants to reach out but can’t bring himself to go that extra step. “That’s not _fucking fine_. I think there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“I’m just not hungry!” Grif exclaims suddenly, shout echoing in the sudden quiet of the room. There’s a beat in which everyone stares at him in shock, eyes wide as they struggle to deal with the impossible; a beat that is only broken by the sound of Simmons’ seat screeching backward as he gets up from his chair.

“Oh my god, you’re dying,” Simmons says in a high pitched voice, distress evident in every syllable. He’s pale—paler than he usually is—and looks like he’s about to faint, swaying in the air like a tree during a hurricane. “We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”

“I’m not dying,” Grif mutters irritably, but Simmons doesn’t pay attention. He comes closer as his hands move to Grif’s forehead to check for fever, which he does as if he’s afraid of what he’ll find. Grif’s hand bats his away. “Simmons! I’m. Not. Dying.”

“Yes, you are!” Simmons disagrees. He swallows hard, throat clicking as his hand moves back to Grif’s forehead. Grif bats it away again. “Oh my god, you’re dying and I won’t be able to pay the rent.”

Grif freezes, expression turning sour. “Yeah, ‘cause _that’s_ the important part,” he says with a scowl, bitterness seeping through just the slightest amount. He pushes Simmons away with more force than is absolutely necessary, then shoves his chair away from the table, obviously done with this conversation.

“Where are you going?” Simmons protests. “You can’t just leave! We have to get you to a doctor!”

“Yeah, I go to the doctor all the time,” Caboose says, trying to be helpful the only way he knows how. "They give you lollipops sometimes. Or cookies and orange juice.”

“That’s only for giving blood, you idiot,” Tucker explains, "not whatever monster-flu it is that Grif has!”

Caboose suddenly looks alarmed. He scoots closer to Tucker, staring worriedly at Grif out of the corner of his eye as his teeth gnaw nervously at his lower lip. “I do not want to catch the monster flu,” he says quietly.

Donut hmphs and crosses his arms. “Well, you don’t have to worry about _that_ , Caboose,” he replies, “because I don’t think what Grif has is contagious.”

Caboose doesn’t quite get what Donut means when he mouths ‘lovesickness’ as obnoxiously as possible, but Tucker and the others pick up on it easily, enough so that Donut might as well have said it out loud.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Simmons says scathingly. “Grif isn’t in love with anybody, right?” He turns to Grif, who remains stone-faced, gazing at Simmons with cold eyes and a dead expression.

All the blood abruptly leaves Simmons’ face.

Tucker sits straight up in his chair, feeling something antsy and worried enter his stomach. “Uh, Simmons?” he says. “It’s not what you think—"

Simmons shakes his head furiously, as though trying to get the thoughts—or Tucker’s voice—out of his head. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he squeaks, voice cracking midway through the watery sentence. Without waiting for them to nod or respond, he goes running off and out the door, heading the wrong way entirely.

“Nice going, Donut,” Grif says as he glares over at the man in question. He gets up from his chair and goes stalking after Simmons, leaving their awkwardness behind for the rest of the table.

After a minute, Tucker turns to Donut and shares a long and uneasy look with him. "At least Grif isn't avoiding him anymore?” he points out uncertainly.

Donut doesn’t seem comforted by that at all.

And, to be honest, neither is Tucker.

* * *

 

He spends the rest of his lunch break ignoring Donut’s plans for getting Grif and Simmons back together, all the while wondering whether or not to tell Wash about dinner. By the time he has to go inside, he still doesn’t have an answer, but that’s rendered less important by the reappearance of Grif at Tucker’s desk.

“Simmons thinks I’m in love with somebody else,” Grif hisses in as low a voice as he can with Tucker still managing to hear him. Tucker’s mind immediately goes blank, somehow not expecting the words even though he should.

“ _Who?_ ” Tucker says in bewilderment.

“I don’t know! _Someone_!”

Tucker can’t help it; he bursts out laughing at the sound of Grif’s yelping, unable to stop even when he gets punched in the arm for his trouble. “C’mon, how is this a problem?” he asks through his snickers. “All you have to do is tell him that Donut was talking out his ass, and— ”

Grif grimaces.

The smile is wiped away as quickly as it arrived.  “Oh, shit,” Tucker says, feeling his stomach roll queasily. “That _is_ a lie, right? You haven't been—"

"No!" Grif denies.

Tucker's shoulders slump in relief. He doesn't know what he'd do if that wasn't the case. "So what's the problem?" he replies. "Just tell him the truth so you two can stop all this bullshit and actually bang each other for once."

For once, Grif ignores his comment in favor of getting straight to the point. “I already told him the truth!" he tells Tucker. "He didn't believe me."

Tucker gapes. "You told him you have a thing for him?"

"No!" Grif exclaims, capturing the attention of a few people in the office. They glance away when Grif glares at them, unwilling to catch his ire. "I told him I didn't have a thing for anybody else."

Something about the phrasing catches Tucker's attention, but it's not until he reviews their conversation that he realizes what captured his interest. “Hey, wait,” Tucker says with dawning realization, “earlier, you said ‘somebody _else_.' That you're in love with someone else.’ That's not just having a _thing_ for someone.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So that totally fucking implies that you’re in love with Simmons,” Tucker says. He looks at Grif gleefully, grin spreading helplessly across his face, so happy to have caught Grif out that Tucker’s toes are actually curling in his shoes.

“Yeah, so?” Grif says in the exact same voice, that stoney look coming back as if it never left. He looks at Tucker flatly, expression devoid of any emotion and yet somehow saying everything it needs to. Tucker is quietly dumbfounded.

“Dude,” he breathes in awe, “You’re in love with Simmons.”

Grif rolls his eyes so hard that Tucker’s a little worried his expression might get stuck that way. “You’ve been saying that for ten years already,” he points out snidely. “I usually can’t get you to shut up about it. ”

“Yeah, but I was just…”

Not joking, not exactly, because he meant every word, but…

“I always thought you two would take it to the grave.”

Grif takes that in for a very long minute, eyes flickering down before rising back up to meet Tucker’s own. Then, instead of saying anything, he shrugs one arm as if it doesn’t matter and plasters a nonchalant look on his face.

“Seriously?” Tucker asks before Grif can say anything. “You were really never gonna say anything at all? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Keep your voice down!” Grif whispers, looking over his shoulder with a hunted expression. Across the room, Palomo gives them both an extremely interested look, and Tucker can already tell that whatever they say will be all over the office in less than an hour.

Tucker lowers his voice accordingly. "Dude, you gotta tell him before you both implode," he urges. "You can't keep going on like you are. Even I know that shit won't work. Besides, you already made Simmons fucking cry. How much worse can it get if you tell him the truth?"

Grif glares at the accusation, but doesn't say a thing in his own defense. Instead, he goes stomping off without another word, leaving Tucker staring at his back with a confused expression on his face.

"Hey, Tucker, did Grif really make Simmons cry?"

Tucker looks over at Palomo in exasperation and throws a pencil right at his stupid face. "How the fuck did you even hear that?" he demands to know.

Palomo fumbles, but manages to bat it out of the air. "I have really good hearing," he says proudly. "My mom always said I had ears like a bat."

All the way on the other side of the room, Grif narrowly avoids slamming into the copier as he stumbles and almost falls over. "A bat!?" he yelps in panic and fear, easily forgetting his anger and his trouble with Simmons. "Who said anything about bats?"

Tucker shares a look with Palomo. "Looks like you're not the only one."

* * *

 

After Grif calms down and Palomo stops asking stupid questions, Tucker is finally able to get some work done at the office, managing to put all other thoughts and worries out of his head until it's time for him to go home. Unfortunately, that means that by five o'clock, he still hasn't figured out what to tell Wash. With a sigh, Tucker packs up for the day and vows to think about it on the drive home.

By the time he gets to his apartment, he still hasn't come to a conclusion, but that's rendered less important when he finally sits his exhausted body on the living room couch and greets Sheila with a welcome smile.

"Hey, Sheila," he begins. "Did Junior give you trouble today?"

Sheila's eyes are wide and earnest when she responds. "Oh, no!" she assures him. "He and Delta were very well-behaved during their play date. They weren't any trouble at all!"

Huh. Guess that answers the question of whether or not Delta came over today. Tucker grins, not so secretly glad to hear it. He probably should've figured, to be honest; Sheila's been almost as worried as _he_ is about the whole Theta situation, so it stands to reason that she wouldn't say no to Junior hanging out with his new friend.

"So where are they?" Tucker says casually. He kicks his shoes off and sprawls sideways on the couch, letting his feet rest after a long day. The television's turned on to a dvd menu, so clearly they weren't watching in Junior's room.

"You just missed them," Sheila responds as she sits down on the chair next to the sofa. "Delta got up to use the bathroom while Junior took the opportunity to get his graphic novels from his room. They should both be returning shortly."

As if on cue, Junior's voice comes out of nowhere, sounding suspiciously happy to see Tucker after their brief time apart. "Dad," he exclaims, "you're finally home!"

Tucker blinks in bemusement at the unexpectedly enthusiastic greeting, then shares a suspicious look with Sheila. "Yeah, I just got here a minute ago. Why? What do you want?"

"Nothing!" Junior says indignantly.

Sheila cocks her head at Tucker in surprise, but she's hiding a small smile on her face.

Tucker's eyes narrow in response. "Uh-huh," he replies, then turns around fully to face his son. He has to do a double-take when he sees Junior’s hair, still not used to seeing those dark curls tipped with the aqua color that Junior eventually settled on. It's almost like seeing a stranger standing there where his kid should be.

“So,” he says, only somewhat off-balance, “have fun today?”

"Yeah! We're almost done with the first season!" Junior informs him excitedly. He bounces on his feet a little, completely unable to keep his enthusiasm in check. "Delta said he likes it even though everyone acts illogically."

Tucker snorts. It's weird hearing Junior say something like that—not because he isn't smart or anything, but because Tucker isn't used to hearing many nine year olds use the word illogically in a sentence. Hell, barely any twelve year olds speak like that. Delta's just weird that way.

Junior bounds forward until he's standing behind Tucker and to the right, dangling his arms over the back of the couch so he can pour his pile of paperbacks at Tucker's feet. "Delta reads fast," he explains when Tucker raises his eyebrow at the sheer amount of books he brought, "so I thought I'd bring a lot of them."

"That's cool," Tucker says agreeably. "That way he doesn't have to wait for the next book."

"Right!" Junior responds. He beams at Tucker like he's incredibly proud of him for figuring that out on his own. Tucker hides his scowl and wonders if he'll have to look forward to more looks like that the closer Junior gets to high school. "Do you think I brought enough?"

"I'm sure the amount will be sufficient," Sheila reassures him.

Before Junior can answer, they all hear the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them. Almost as one, they tilt their heads to face the newcomer, each of them relaxing as they see Delta standing there.

"Delta!' Junior says happily. "You're back!"

Tucker looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "Take it down a notch, okay?" he mutters for Junior's ears only. "He was only in the bathroom. You don't want to make it weird."

Junior scowls at him for a brief moment, but lowers his voice the next time he speaks, using a more normal tone when he does. "I brought the books for you," he says in a quieter voice. "You can borrow my backpack to carry them if you want."

Delta nods. "I would appreciate that."

Junior grins and runs off back to his bedroom for a few seconds, or however long it will take him to find his bag. That leaves Sheila and Tucker alone with a kid that neither of them really knows anything about.

It's a little awkward.

Surprisingly, though, it's Delta who breaks the silence.

"Good evening, Mr. Tucker," Delta says politely. "Thank you for having me in your home."

Tucker wants to make a face at how formal this kid is being, but he keeps his feelings to himself and waves off Delta's remark. "Don't worry about it," Tucker tells him. "You're welcome whenever."

"I am pleased to—"

"I found it!" Junior exclaims from his bedroom, sounding far more triumphant about it than he reasonably should. He jogs back with his bag slung carelessly over his shoulder and comes to a stop at Delta's side, staring up at him in this obviously adoring way that makes Tucker feel embarrassed on his behalf.

"Yeaah," Tucker says slowly, "I think I'm gonna go get ready for dinner now."

Delta gives him a short nod. "I should leave as well."

Junior’s face immediately crumbles, lips turning down at the sides as if Delta just told him that Epsilon died. “Why?” he asks plaintively. “It’s only five thirty!”

Delta pushes his glasses up his nose. It _looks_ like a nervous gesture, but it’s hard to tell with the kid being as self-composed as he is. “Be that as it may,” he says, “my grandmother still expects me home in time for dinner.”

"You can eat dinner over here!" Junior protests.

"Junior," Tucker begins.

Sheila anxiously wrings her hands. "Oh, dear."

Junior shakes his head wildly. "Sheila was gonna order pizza for me and her for when dad goes out to dinner," he explains in an urgent voice, "and we're not gonna be able to eat it all, but maybe we can with three people instead of two!"

Tucker turns around and kneels on the couch, leaning far over the back of it so that he can tug Junior away from Delta in order to have a private conversation. “Come on," he whispers into Junior's ear, "what did I tell you about being clingy?”

Junior twists around to face him with an indignant look. "I'm not being clingy!" he hisses a little too loudly. Tucker's gaze darts over to see if Delta overheard, and sure enough, the look of discomfort on his face says it all.

Tucker decides not to tell Junior about it. Instead, he focuses on Junior's eyes, holding his gaze so that Junior knows he's being serious. "Dude, you're trying to make it so he can't go home," Tucker points out. "That's a little clingy, okay? And kind of creepy."

Junior looks horrified. "I'm being _creepy_?"

Tucker nods.

"I didn't mean to!" Junior blurts out. He whirls around with wide eyes and looks Delta straight in the eye. "I'm sorry I was creepy! And clingy!" He hesitates, then says in a rush, "And you can go home now. I promise I won't say anything!"

Delta actually looks a little taken aback. "I—"

But Junior’s too busy babbling to let him finish. “And you don't have to worry about my books! Just bring them back when you're done with them, even if it's like _a month._ I don't care!" He hesitates again, sounding sad and subdued when he continues. "And if you don't want to borrow them or be friends anymore, that's okay too."

He gives Junior points for being brave, but takes away some for the unintentional guilt trip. "Alright," Tucker interrupts, trying to put an end to that, "Delta, you should go before your grandma freaks out about how long you've been here."

"My grandmother doesn't 'freak out,'" Delta quotes complete with finger motions, "but I see your point." He glances at Junior one more time, looks away, then seems to force himself to look at him stiffly. "I will return the books to you as soon as I am done with them."

Junior nods glumly, his gaze lowered to the ground.

Delta hesitates one more moment, staring at Junior from under his surprisingly long lashes. "If you'll allow it," he begins, and here he looks at Tucker, "I would appreciate being given the chance to view the rest of the season."

For a second, all Junior can do is blink down at the ground, but once Delta's words wiggle their way into his brain, he moves on to smiling broadly. "Yeah!" he bursts out in shock and excitement. "Yeah, you can come over if you want. And when we're done, we can watch all the other ones, too!"

Tucker feels himself grinning so hard that his cheeks begin to hurt. He looks at Sheila, who visibly shares his feelings of joy and relief, and together they watch over the kids at they say their private goodbyes on Delta's way out the door.

Sheila tilts her head until it's closer to Tucker's ear. "I believe the two of them will prove to be very good friends," she tells him warmly.

"You know what, Sheila?" Tucker says. "I think you're totally right about that."

Tucker's never felt so confident about something in his life.

* * *

 

With that little bump in the road firmly behind them, Tucker leaves Junior behind with Sheila and heads to the bathroom to get ready for dinner. He doesn't have much time to spare, so he doesn't relax like he usually does, but he doesn't let that bother him at all; even if he had all the time in the world, nothing would release the tension he feels when he thinks about the decision he's made.

He's decided not to tell Wash about tonight's dinner.

He tells himself that it's too late, anyway, that asking him now would only be inconsiderate. He tells himself that Wash has already made plans with his family and that they're probably already getting ready to go. He tells himself a lot of things, but none of them get rid of the twist in his stomach when Tucker thinks about Wash finding out.

He ignores it as best as he can, however, and showers quickly, then hops into the clothes he laid out on the bed before he went into the bathroom earlier. They're nicer than he'd usually wear, but only because Tucker doesn't feel like getting a lecture about appropriate dinner attire from the Director in the middle of trying to avoid an argument with Carolina. It's bad enough he has to be there at all; there's no point in making his life any more frustrating than it already is.

With that in mind, he gets to the Director's house with time to spare, not pointedly late or barely on time the way that he usually is when he arrives. Church greets him at the front door, opening it wide with a look of barely disguised relief that he quickly hides behind his mockery.

Tucker narrows his eyes in preparation. "What?"

Church pointedly looks around and snorts. “Where’s Wash?” he asks rhetorically. “Couldn’t convince him to come to this little dinner of nightmares we’ll be having?”

"Yeah, he decided to sit this one out," Tucker lies, because he knows he'll get a headache if he tries to explain what's been going on in his head since yesterday. He doesn't want to talk about Wash, anyway. He doesn't want to explain why he didn't invite him.

Despite his previous comment, Tucker's answer has Church looking skeptical. "Really?" he says with his eyebrows raised high. " _Wash_ decided to turn you down?"

“Well, he fucking did this time,” Tucker says, sounding a hair too defensive, “Maybe he had some family shit to deal with, I don’t fucking know.”

“Uh-huh,” Church replies. “You know, Tucker, you—"

Thankfully, whatever he's about to say is interrupted by York, who comes wandering down the hall from the direction of the family room. "Tucker!" he exclaims in a falsely cheerful tone, "Glad to see you could make it."

"You don't _sound_ very glad," Tucker points out.

To his surprise, York doesn't bother denying it. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that," he says. He scratches his neck and looks rueful for a second, tilting his head as if to say, ‘what can you do?’

"Eh, whatever," Tucker says dismissively, "I'm already over it."

He looks around the hallway curiously, straining to hear any sound of arguments or something to indicate that Carolina and Tex have been left in a room all by themselves. "So, uh, where is everybody?"

"Tex is in the kitchen getting some 'alone time' with the in-laws," Church responds, rolling his eyes so hard that Tucker's surprised they don't fall out of his head.

Tucker snorts. "And whose stupid idea was that?"

York rubs his palm over his face. "That would be Tex's."

Tucker's eyes go wide at the unexpected news. " _Tex!?_ " he squawks in complete and utter surprise. "What the hell is she up to?"

Church shakes his head grimly. "I dunno, Tucker, but it's nothing good."

Tucker takes a moment to contemplate all the things that could go wrong with those three trapped in one little room. He shifts uncomfortably just at the thought. “At least Carolina and Tex won’t kill each other with the Director there,” he says, crossing his fingers in case that helps it come true.

York reaches across the distance between then and claps a hand down on Tucker's shoulder. "Did anyone ever tell you how reassuring you are?" he says fake-earnestly. "Because I think you have a talent for looking on the bright side."

Tucker rolls his eyes. "Uh-huh, sure I do," he replies. "It's right up there with my talent for not embarrassing myself in front of strangers."

It comes out more melancholy than it is sarcastic, the memory of last night's dinner still too near to the skin to make the statement anything but depressing as fuck. Luckily, Church just smirks and says nothing, while York at least has the decency to look sympathetic.

Tucker thinks he prefers Church's attitude to York's. No—in fact, he's _sure_ he does, which is probably why Tucker quickly changes the subject and suggest they stop gossiping and move to the family room.

The others agree, so Tucker waits until they're all settled on their respective seats to ask a question he's been meaning to ask since Saturday. "Hey, York?" he says as soon as they all make themselves comfortable. "Can you do me a favor? I kinda need you to give me your advice on something."

York's eyebrows fly up, but he gives an amiable smile nonetheless, making sure to face Tucker head on. "Sure," he tells Tucker with a nod, "ask away."

Tucker nods back mechanically. “Right, right,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He winces a little, then runs a hand through his hair, feeling far more stupid than he should. “so uh…”

“Spit it out already,” Church says impatiently.

Tucker shoots him a dirty look. “I wasn’t asking _you_.”

“You weren’t asking anybody anything,” Church replies with a pointed look. “All you were doing was sitting around and wasting everybody else’s time."

Tucker scowls even though Church is right. “Dude, shut up,” he says only a little bit sullenly, “I just wanted to ask York if he knew how to impress someone’s parents, okay?”

There’s a beat in which both Church and York stare at him silently. Then:

"Wait, you're asking _me_?" York says in disbelief.

"You’re asking _him?_ " Church echoes. He ignores the mock frown he receives from York, focusing on Tucker and his own incredulity. "Seriously, Tucker, what the fuck were you thinking? The Director _hates_ York."

Tucker scoffs. "So what? The Director hates everyone you guys date—”

"With the exception of Tex," York cuts in.

Tucker continues without missing a beat, because anybody stating something that obvious _deserves_ to be ignored. “He even hates the people _I_ date,” he points out. “That’s how fucked up he is. But York has lasted longer than all of Carolina’s boyfriends, so he has to be doing something right.”

York chuckles, and there’s something fond and content in his voice that catches Tucker’s attention. “Pretty sure the only thing I’m doing right is whatever I do to make Carolina want me."

“Yeah, sure, romantic stuff. Whatever. Got anything useful for me?”

Church snorts.

York shakes his head at Tucker’s dismissiveness, amusement evident on his face. “Hey, have you ever thought about trying to be yourself?” he asks Tucker sardonically. “I know it sounds simple, but it just might work.”

Church snorts again, this time derisively. Tucker’s completely with him on that one. “You know,” Tucker begins, “I’m starting to understand why Church thought you were the wrong guy to go to for this.”

"Thanks a lot," York replies.

"Hey, you said it too!"

Church easily stops the argument before it can even start. "Let's face it," he begins as he crosses his arms, "Tucker isn't going to get anywhere with them by being himself."

Tucker debates getting offended by the words, but really, it's nothing he hasn't already told himself. "Yeah," he agrees instead, "I tried being myself yesterday and wound up telling his parents and niece how I like to end my blowjobs."

York chokes on absolutely nothing, while Church hangs his head in borrowed shame, one hand coming up to shield his eyes like he's trying to the hide the second-hand embarrassment from being seen.

"You sure know how to win them over," Carolina says drily, voice coming out of nowhere and startling them all into jumping in their seats. As they twist their heads around to face her, she steps forward, moving into the living room with a easy smile as though she isn't fighting with two-thirds of the people in it.

For a moment, things are like they always are when they're all here together, but then something shifts in Carolina's expression. Maybe she's just remembering their fight the other day, or maybe she's mad at him for something else entirely, but the moment her gaze drifts to Church and then him, her face goes hard and dark.

"Time for dinner," she tells them all in a terse voice.

York gives her a tired smile and tells her that they’ll be right there, but Church and Tucker trade wary looks across the coffee table in front of them.

This is gonna be a fucking disaster.

* * *

 

They settle down to eat with only a few short greetings to each other, sitting with each other in perfect silence, the only sound in the room for the first five minutes being the clink of the forks as they touch down on the plate between bites. It's nowhere near the tone a wedding celebration should have, but somehow it fits the mood they all seem to be in. That is, with the exception of Tex and the Director, who spend the time acting scarily cheerful.

Well, Tex is scarily cheerful, anyway. The Director just seems really happy. Which, come to think of it, is creepy in a whole different way, because it’s not like the Director is the type to see sunshine and rainbows everywhere he goes. And yet, here he is, raising a glass of wine with a beaming smile you could see a mile off.

“Here’s to the happy couple,” the Director says in toast. "May they never take each other for granted."

He pauses to give Church a warning look, as though to tell him he had _better_ not take her for granted, though there's something messed up about him giving his son that threat when he should have been saying it to Tex. But then, Carolina already has that covered, if the dark glare she's giving Tex is any indication, and unlike the Director she's completely willing to throw down if she finds out that's not true.

As Tucker watches, she raises her glass along with everyone else at the table, touching it to the other's glasses with a bitter look on her face. "To the happy couple," she repeats through gritted teeth, barely waiting for the last word to leave her lips before downing the entire drink.

Beside her, York winces and takes a large sip of his own.

Tex, in stark contrast to their reactions, only smiles wolfishly before taking her sip, then pointedly plays happy couples by cuddling into Church's side in a way they usually only do in public when completely wasted.

Church looks incredibly disturbed.

Tucker's pretty disturbed himself, but unlike Church, he’s not so taken off guard that he doesn’t understand what Tex is doing: shoving her and Church’s relationship in Carolina’s face in order to piss her off even more. That the Director is so proud and happy for them has to make things so much worse.

Tex doesn’t usually egg the situation on like this. In fact, she’s usually trying to make things _better_ for Carolina, especially when the Director is around. Where Church is vocal about his anger, Tex is quiet, but that doesn’t mean she likes being used as a weapon any more than Carolina likes being hurt. But here she is, turning her relationship into ammo just because Carolina intentionally hurt Church.

Tucker shakes his head and copies York, taking a sip from his own glass that’s more like a gulp. Just this once, he’s determined not to take sides, still feeling far too exhausted and stressed from last night's dinner to be getting into another fight. He'd rather take Wash’s advice and not get involved.

Unfortunately, the others seem determined to drag him into it.

“So, _Lavernius_ ,” Carolina says out loud, causing him to scowl a bit at the name, “where’s Wash? I thought you told me he was going to come tonight. You know we were all expecting him.”

He twitches in surprise at suddenly being front and center. Leave it to Carolina to figure out the one thing he didn’t want to talk about, the one thing that he’s still confused and a little uncertain about. Leave it to Carolina.

Tucker stiffens at the pettiness of her lie, but tries his best not to respond the way she wants him to. “I didn’t think you gave a shit about when Wash _comes_ ,” he cracks only a little bit coolly, “but hey, if it’s that important to you, you could always join us next time.”

She gives him a disgusted look, not impressed by the double entendre.

"That type of humor is hardly appropriate for the dinner table," the Director says disapprovingly. He gives Tucker a warning look, the kind that makes him worry about his mom finding out. After a moment in which he debates continuing anyway, Tucker does the smart thing and bites back on his intended remark.

"She started it," he mutters instead.

"Real mature, Tucker," Carolina replies. "You sound like a ten year old."

Just to prove that he isn't, Tucker gives her the finger. It earns him another sharp look from the Director, one that has his hands flying up defensively. "Okay, okay!" he says with a scowl. "Fine, I'm stopping!"

Surprisingly, the Director is quick to turn on Carolina next. "He is not the only one behaving childishly, Carolina," he says disapprovingly. "You would do well to remember that."

Carolina goes still at the admonishment and looks down at her plate, and for a second she looks so lost and lonely that it makes Tucker's heart twist painfully in his chest. He finds himself speaking before he realizes he's doing it. "So Junior tried calling you the other day," he blurts out. "He's been missing you."

Her head shoots up in surprise, mirroring the rest of the table, who all shoot startled looks at Tucker for not only attempting to be civil, but for changing the conversation in such an obvious way.

"What?" Carolina says.

Tucker casually spears some string beans onto his fork and takes a bite. The food gives him time to formulate a response that won't sound like he's trying to make her feel bad.

"Yeah, I figured you were probably avoiding the phone, so I told him to try calling you on his cell," he continues, "and he said he would, but, well..." Tucker shrugs. "You know how he can be about things like this."

Shy and uncertain, as if he's worried that all the people who care about him have suddenly forgotten that little fact. He wouldn't want to bother Carolina for fear of it being confirmed, so Tucker highly doubts Junior called her yesterday to clear things up the way he said he would. From the look of regret on Carolina's face, Tucker guessed correctly.

"I'll call him tonight," she promises, sounding subdued, as though realizing for the first time how her stubbornness might be affecting other people. For a brief moment, Tucker feels an inkling of hope that Carolina will finally see her bullshit for what it is, but then her eyes shutter and go blank, and every wisp of realization is tucked away where no one can see.

It makes him angrier, more frustrated than it should.

Holding tightly to his control, Tucker gets up and throws his napkin on the table in front of him. "I've got to go to the bathroom," he tells everyone, then stalks out of the room as fast as he can, determined not to go and make things worse.

He gets halfway there when his cell phone rings, startling him into stillness. He fumbles with it for a moment, but manages to catch it before it hits the ground, bringing it to his ear with only a quick glance at the screen to see who it is on the other side.

“Hi, sorry, can’t talk long,” Tucker says. “I’m kinda busy doing other things.”

It's not really a lie, he thinks as he listens to the faint sounds of people talking in the background. It’s more like stretching the truth a little. Wash doesn't need to know where he's at or what he's doing, he just needs to know that Tucker isn't available.

"That's fine," Washington says easily enough—so easily, in fact, that it leaves Tucker feeling guilty. "I was just wondering if Junior was busy tomorrow."

"Junior?" Tucker repeats with a frown.

"Annie wants to know if he can come over to play."

“Uh, I don’t know,” Tucker says, blinking very hard. He can’t believe he’s about to say these words, but: “I’ll have to ask him. He might have other plans with Delta.”

"Delta?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you," Tucker says. He smacks his palm against his head, admonishing himself physically. "Junior met the new kid who lives across the street and now he's convinced they'll be best friends forever. It's kinda weird, but at least it takes his mind off Theta."

"That's...good?"

"Fuck yeah, it is!" Tucker replies, "and now Annie wants to play with him, too? Shit, he’ll have dozens of friends in no time!"

Wash doesn't make fun of his enthusiasm the way that others would, which is probably why Tucker's with him instead of anybody else. "I'm glad," Washington says warmly. "He could use a few good things coming his way."

Tucker feels his eyes crinkle at the corners. A burst of pleasure rushes through him, wiping away all the negativity of the evening and soothing the remains of his nerves. It turns him stupid with the joy of it—stupid enough to say something that's been bothering him all day long.

“I’m at the Director’s house,” Tucker blurts out, "for a family dinner."

Washington pauses, obviously taken aback by both the unexpectedness of the comment and the random way in which it was inserted into the conversation. "I...see," he begins uncertainly, clearing his throat before continuing, "Do you want me to come pick you up?"

"No, I—you were supposed to be here."

There's another pause, longer than the last. Finally, Wash replies in a bewildered tone, “Then why didn't you tell me earlier?”

"Because I didn't want you to come with me."

Immediately, Tucker's eyes bug out at the words he just said, mouth making a little surprised noise of horror. The voice on the other end of the phone goes silent abruptly, nothing but a sharp intake of breath to let Tucker know that Washington heard.

"Wait, I didn't mean it like that!" Tucker says in a rush, "I just meant...uh..." His mind searches for a way to explain something he can't put into words. "I meant—oh, fuck, I don't know what I meant."

But that's a lie. He knows it the minute he says the words, just as much as he knows that he never should have said them out loud. Because...see, the thing is, Tucker _did_ mean that the way that it sounded. He just didn't mean to tell Wash, that's all.

"Tucker, is something going on with you?" Wash asks in a low, concerned voice. It's the verbal equivalent of inching closer, of making something private and intimate. Tucker doesn't know if it's welcome or not. "Did something happen?"

"No," Tucker says, feeling so mixed up that he doesn't know if that's true or not, "I'm just in a weird mood." He waves his hand dismissively, forgetting for a second that Wash can't see. "And I'm stressed because of work shit. But whatever."

"Tucker," Wash begins quietly, "you—”

And he knows that Washington doesn’t deserve it, but Tucker can’t help but lash out at him in a mixture of impatience and stress. “Look, there’s nothing going on with me, alright?” he says far too sharply. “So just get off my case already!”

Everything goes suddenly, terrifyingly silent.

Even the background conversation sounds far away, growing muffled in the face of Tucker's panic as his heartbeat drowns every other sound out. Tucker struggles for something to say to make everything alright again, but his mind is empty and refuses to work and he knows there's nothing he could say anyway, but he has to _try_ —"

"Wash—"

"Tucker," Wash begins at the exact same time, startling them both into silence. The sound of his voice is still a comfort, but the _tone_ is all wrong: harsh and hollow and filled with strain. Tucker feels sick at the sound of it.

Washington take a deep breath and sounds a little bit steadier and a whole lot stiffer when he finally speaks. "If you still want Junior to come over tomorrow, I can pick him up in the morning before you go to work," he says as though nothing is wrong, "and drop him off at the end of the day. Or you can pick him up yourself, if that's more convenient. Just tell me and I'll—"

"Wash—"

But Wash ignores him, dismissing him and his words as though they were nothing. "Until then," he states with a disturbing finality, "maybe you should take the time to get your head on straight."

Tucker's shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Yeah, okay," he mutters into the phone, "I'll talk to you tomorrow when I pick Junior up." He hesitates, gnawing hard at his lip, then shakes his head even though Wash can't see it. "Hey, Wash?"

Wash doesn't answer immediately. "...yes?"

"I'm sorry I keep acting like a dick."

Washington goes quiet in the aftermath of Tucker's confession. "I know," he says after a long moment has passed. "You've just been under a lot of stress lately, what with everything that's been going on."

"Yeah," Tucker replies, relieved to know that Wash understands. "It's kind of...things are fucked in my head, dude. I don't know what the fuck is going on up there. I just..." He closes his eyes. He suddenly feels so tired—exhausted, really, from everything that's been going on. "I just need to—"

“You just need to _relax_ ," Washington tells him. He waits just long enough for Tucker to take that in, then continues. "Maybe you should take tomorrow off. You still have sick days left, right?"

"Yeah," Tucker replies. Junior's been doing better when it comes to avoiding trouble at school, so Tucker hasn't had to miss as many days this year as he normally would have had to. "But it's just a day. What good would that do?"

"It would give you a break," Wash points out. And even though it's only the beginning of the week, Tucker could really use one. Still...

"I already took time off to go to Church's wedding," Tucker says regretfully. "Taking more off again this soon sounds like a bad idea. Like, Kimball's cool and all, but I'm pretty sure even she has her limits."

"You could always try it anyway," Wash cajoles.

Tucker hesitates. He'd like to say no, but Wash sounds so earnest and emphatic about Tucker needing to relax, as though it's vitally important instead of just a nice idea. "I'll call her," he promises Wash, "and we'll see what she says then."

Wash breathes out a sigh of relief. "Good."

Tucker hesitates again, struggling with his words in an effort to not make the same mistake and let anything harsh accidentally spill out in Washington's direction. "Okay, so uh," he begins roughly, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You will," Wash affirms, sounding so solid and _there_ for Tucker that Tucker almost wants to do something dangerous, like blurt out words that have never been said, or speak promises that are more likely to sound like a vow. But Tucker's not stupid. He knows that's only the wine from dinner talking, so he keeps his mouth shut and makes a humming noise of assent, secretly hoping that Wash will get it anyway.

And maybe, just _maybe_ , Wash really does, because his voice goes warm and deep and fills with some emotion that Tucker can't define, speaking in a tone that's like being covered in blankets on a cold day or slipping into a deep sleep with arms wrapped around you.

"Goodnight, Tucker," Wash says softly.

And because Tucker isn't ready to say the words that he really wants to say, he instead says the only ones that will fit the conversation, the only ones that won't change everything for them in one burst of sound.

"Goodnight, Wash," Tucker replies.

He tells himself that it's enough.


	7. Discoveries

Tucker must have sounded crappier than he thought he did, because Kimball accepts his story about coming down with the flu and lets him have two days off in a row. He takes advantage of it as much as he can, trusting Junior to get himself ready for the day while Tucker sleeps in for as long as he's able.

He rests until about ten thirty, when the knocking on the front door finally shocks him awake. Dazed, he staggers out of his room and into the hallway, opening the door without even checking who it is on the other side.

"Hello, Tucker," Wash says evenly.

Tucker chokes on nothing but spit at the sight of him. He knows he should've expected him—Wash _told_ him he was coming, after all—but somehow it still comes as a surprise to Tucker, who suddenly feels off-balance in just his boxers and t-shirt.

"Hey! Wash!" he blurts out awkwardly. "What's up?"

Forgetting for a moment that doors are made to move, Tucker leans against it as casually as he can, resting all his weight on it like a complete idiot. The door gives under him, flying toward the wall, and Tucker promptly slips to the side, crashing down on the floor in front of Washington.

"I'm smooth!" Tucker is quick to insist as he clambers up, defiant although no one is arguing with him. "I'm just having an off day. It happens to everyone."

"I'm sure," Washington says dryly, sarcasm practically dripping from his lips. Regardless, his hands immediately move to Tucker's hips, keeping him steady in case he falls again. It isn't necessary, but Tucker doesn't mind. It just feels good to have Wash's hands on him.

Tucker just wishes they were a little lower.

He's about to suggest it when Wash interrupts him unknowingly. "You were...tense yesterday," Wash says out of nowhere. His hands clench tighter on Tucker's hips, almost bruising in their strength. "I'm glad you took my advice about calling out today."

"Got tomorrow off, too," Tucker says proudly. He leans in and places his hands over Washington's, dragging them to Tucker's ass as a reward for good behavior. Wash huffs, but doesn't remove them, a fact which has Tucker grinning broadly until a voice comes piping up to ruin the mood.

"Can we go now?"

Wash's hands slip from Tucker's ass so fast it's like they were never there at all, leaving Tucker feeling cold. He makes a face before turning around, trying hard not to frown at Junior for ruining the moment.

"Dude, he just got here," Tucker points out. "Why are you in such a hurry, anyway?"

"I wanna play with Annie," Junior tells him insistently.

"Annie can wait like five minutes."

But Wash is already pulling away, taking a few steps away from Tucker until they’re no longer close enough to touch. "No, it's alright," he says. He shakes his head, looking regretful. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

Junior throws his hands in the air in excitement, a smug smile on his face all the while. Reluctantly, Tucker finds himself smiling at the sight; Junior, after all, has been going through a rough time lately and it's still rare to see him looking so happy.

"Fine, you win this time," Tucker grumbles half-heartedly. He crosses his arms as he stares down at Junior. "But don't think I'm gonna forget about all your cockblocking when it comes time for you to eat dinner tonight."

Junior pauses to think about that, brow furrowing as he works it out. Slowly, his nose wrinkles as he comes to understand what Tucker means.

"More broccoli?" Junior says glumly.

Tucker nods. "You bet."

Junior gives a long, drawn-out sigh of disappointment, sounding comically older and wearier than he should. "Can I have it with dressing?" he asks Tucker. "Or do I have to eat it gross?"

Tucker pretends to consider it for a moment, making a big show out of tapping his finger against his bicep thoughtfully. "Hm," he says as he peers down at Junior, "I guess it depends."

Junior crosses his arms too, a mirror image of Tucker in almost every way. "On what?"

Tucker's lip twitches, but he keeps his amusement locked firmly inside where no one but him can see it. "It depends on, uh..." he begins, "on whether or not you go in your room and give me and Wash like fifteen minutes to say goodbye."

Washington gives a little huff of exasperation. "Tucker..."

"Shh, I'm negotiating," Tucker replies. Washington shakes his head, but Tucker can tell he’s at least a little entertained when Tucker and Junior make a big show of eyeing each other. “So what do you say?”

“Five minutes,” Junior counters.

“Ten minutes,” Tucker returns immediately.

Junior squints up at him as he considers the offer, looking so serious and mature that it’s out-right hilarious, so much so that it’s not just Tucker that Wash is talking to when he shakes his head fondly and says, “You’re being ridiculous.”

Tucker and Junior both ignore him. A long moment goes by while Junior thinks on the offer, debating whether or not to negotiate any more. Finally, he holds out his hand hesitantly and says, “...seven and a half minutes?”

Tucker doesn’t have to think about it for a second. He clasps his hand to Junior’s and shakes it enthusiastically, blurting out, “Deal!” the moment he does. They grin at each other, both of them happier with the little game they played than they are at the thought of getting a good deal.

Wash arches an eyebrow. "Is that it? Are you two done?"

Junior beams. “Yup!”

Washington can’t help but smile back. Junior’s smile is kind of infectious that way. Even the Director isn’t immune to its effects, though he only rarely gets to see it.

"Thanks, Junior," Tucker says. "We’ll come get you when we’re done."

Junior nods. As soon as he steps out into the hall, Tucker whirls around and throws himself into Wash’s arms. "So are you gonna put your hands back on my ass or what?" he asks brazenly. “Because I’ve only got seven and a half minutes to rock your world.”

“Tell you what,” Washington begins, putting on that mocking voice of his that never fails to make Tucker smirk, “I’ll put my hands back where they were if you promise to never say anything like that again.”

Tucker wiggles his eyebrows as obnoxiously as possible. "Deal," he says in a impish tone, then lets his hand drift down to the zipper on Washington's jeans, cupping him firmly in his open palm. "You wanna shake on it?"

"Tucker," Wash says in a strained voice, "we only have seven minutes."

They wind up taking thirty, but no one but Junior complains about it in the end.

* * *

 

Tucker debates going back to sleep after Wash and Junior leave, but it's eleven o'clock and he's feeling a little bit gnawish, so he wanders back into the kitchen in search of something to eat, finally settling on some microwaveable pizza.

He fiddles with his phone as he waits for the timer to finish counting down, playing a ten second long game of Candy Crush before getting bored and opening his messages. It's only as he glances through them that he finally remembers what he wanted to talk to Church about after last night's dinner.

_Sooo,_ he types carefully, _did u kno about c visiting ur mom's grave?_

There's a very long, somehow anger-filled pause and then Tucker's cellphone is chiming with a new message that he's almost afraid to read. Eventually, he does however, and it irritably says, _Tucker, what the fuck are you talking about?_

Tucker winces. _Hey, don't kill the messenger._

But despite his words, the phone in his hand rings moments later, startling him in his seat. Hesitantly, he answers it. "Yeah?" he says into the phone, knowing full well exactly who it is. "What's up?"

"What the fuck do you mean she's been visiting our mom's grave?" Church demands to know. "She's not supposed to go for—"

"Another couple of weeks, I know."

"So why the fuck would she be going now?"

Tucker shifts uncomfortably, unsure of whether or not to tell Church the truth now that they're actually talking to each other. But then, this is Church, and he always favors cutting through the bullshit.

"York says she's going because she's still upset that you and Tex got married," he says with a total lack of tact, "and because she's lonely and isn't talking to anybody else."

He waits for the fallout, but Church remains painfully quiet. Tucker can practically _hear_ the hurt coming through the line, can practically _feel_ all that sorrow and anger merging together until it becomes a huge wave ready to drown them completely.

Tucker winces again. "But hey!" he blurts out quickly, hoping that for once he can successfully change the subject. "So did Tex go back to normal yet or is she still acting creepy? Just curious." He pauses, but still gets no response. "Uh...Church? You still there?"

"...Church?"

"What the fuck is wrong with her!?" Church bursts out. "Like, boohoo, your brother got married. That's so sad for you. Maybe you should visit your dead mother's grave because she's the only one who won't call you out on your _bullshit._ "

"Whoa!" Tucker says. "Maybe you should calm down."

"Maybe you should mind your goddamn business," Church snaps in reply, then hangs up the phone without another word, leaving Tucker staring down at his cell in dismay.

Guess it's time to go bother someone else instead.

* * *

 

It's almost three o'clock in the afternoon when Tucker finally gets bored of harassing Wash and the others via text and makes his way over to Sister's one room apartment to get her opinion on this whole Grif and Simmons thing.

"Yeah, it's totally stupid," she agrees as Tucker settles on the couch.

She pads barefoot into the kitchen area looking exhausted and hungover, her brown eyes so  baggy and bloodshot that it makes her look as though she hasn't slept for years. Tucker watches as she opens the freezer and takes out two metal spoons, immediately pressing them both to her eyes as she walks unerringly to sit beside Tucker.

"Does that even work?" he asks her curiously.

"Pshh, _yeah_ ," she tells him. "Why else would I be doing it?"

Tucker shrugs. He, like everyone else, doesn't really understand a lot of things that Sister does or says, but when it comes to hangover remedies he's inclined to believe her. After all, she gets drunk _way_ more often than he does. She's gotta be an expert by now. So Tucker waits until she takes the spoons off to continue their conversation, letting them work their magic until she's ready to speak.

When she finally does, it's to say something completely unexpected.

"So anyway," she says as she throws the spoons across the room. Impressively, they land with a clink in the kitchen sink, making him wonder if she got tips from Donut lately. "I've got the _best_ idea to get Simmons to confess that he's totally in love with my bro."

Tucker perks up. "What, really?"

“Yuh-huh,” Sister replies. “It’s like the perfect plan!”

It really, really isn’t, Tucker thinks to himself after she's told him all the details, but saying that out loud doesn't seem to help. Tucker decides to try logic instead. “Wait, but Simmons already had that huge freak out when he thought Grif was dating someone else,” he points out rationally. “How is finding out that it’s _true_ gonna make things any better?”

Sister gets a satisfied look on her face. “But it’s _not_ true.”

“But Simmons isn’t going to know that!”

“That’s why it’s so perfect!”

Tucker has to bury his face in his hands for a moment, fighting the urge to just leave and let the chips fall where they may. “Okay,” he says after taking a very deep breath, “walk me through this again.”

Sister bounces excitedly. Tucker’s gaze automatically shifts to her breasts before looking away again, reminding himself that he has a boyfriend who wouldn’t appreciate him staring like that. “Look, all we have to do is get big bro a fake GF so his BFF can become his BF,” she tells him, “and then—”

Tucker leans back on the old battered sofa and begins to massage his temple. “No, I got that part,” he says with a sigh. “I just don’t get _why_. How’s Grif getting a fake girlfriend going to make Simmons tell him how he feels?"

Sister bounces again. Once more, he fights off the urge to glance down at her chest. "Um, duh? Because he'll be, like, _super_ jealous," she informs him. "And then all we have to do is lock them in a closet, and _wham!"_

"Wait, so now there's a closet?"

"Uh, yeah? Keep up."

Tucker fights the urge to sigh and silently notes that he never used to be this impatient with Sister. He guesses Wash is rubbing off on him in more ways than the obvious, especially if he's two seconds away from pinching the bridge of his nose and telling her to get to the point already.

"Okay," Tucker begins, "so we lock them in a closet. Then what?"

Sister shrugs. "I don't know," she says, then muses thoughtfully. "Usually when I get locked in a closet I wind up pregnant, even if I'm the only one there."

Tucker decides then and there that he's going to stop asking her anymore questions.

At this point, it's for his goddamn _health_.

* * *

 

Despite his frustration with her and her so-called plan, Tucker still wastes a couple of hours at Sister's place just catching up with her and her latest adventures. Sister and her total lack of problems is a welcome distraction from everything that’s been going on lately, enough so to have Tucker relaxing completely for what feels to him like the first time in months.

He’s so relaxed, in fact, that he almost forgets about Junior entirely.

“Oh shit!” he yelps as he jumps off the couch. He takes his cell phone out and glances at the time, wincing when he sees that it’s seventeen minutes past five o’clock. “I’m pretty sure I was supposed to pick Junior up like twenty minutes ago.”

He winces at the thought of how long it’ll take to get there. With traffic, it'll be about thirty minutes or so, which means Tucker will be almost an hour late, a fact which will give Wash's parents the perfect opportunity to see him as a sucky father in addition to being the guy who sucks their son off.

Great.

Just. Fucking. Great.

“Shit,” he swears again. He turns to Sister, who still curled up on the couch, idly painting her toenails in a rainbow of shades. "I've gotta go. See you on Saturday?"

She nods without looking up, too intent on what she's doing to give him much of her concentration. "Uh-huh, like always," she agrees. Then she looks up at him and brightens. "We can totally do my plan at the barbecue!"

"Uh," Tucker begins, but he's already late enough as it is and he doesn't have time to go through this again, "why don't you get a third opinion on that before you go starting stuff?" That way, at least somebody else can talk her out of it.

She looks as though she's considering it, which is probably the best that he can ask for, so Tucker says his goodbyes and exits the apartment, jogging down the stairs and the street until he's safely in his car.

The drive over takes about as long as he thought it would, though Tucker's anxiety has it stretching into forever. By the time he's arrived at Washington's place, he has ruined most of the work that his relaxing day has done for him, too busy imagining how much everybody will disapprove of him to do anything else but picture the worst.

As a result, Tucker's not exactly sure of the reception he'll get when he nervously knocks on Wash's door, but he figures it won't be good either way. Maybe it'll be Wash's parents staring at him in disappointment, or Wash's brother outright threatening to put him in the ground. Something like that, anyway.

But when the door opens it's to the sight of something else entirely: the sight of Junior wearing a skirt over his jeans and an incredibly stubborn look on his face.

For a second, Tucker can do nothing but stare, but soon enough he's back to his old ways, blurting out the first stupid thing to come in his head: "I thought I told you not to answer the door by yourself."

Junior blinks, then Tucker blinks, then a woman Tucker doesn't know shows up at the doorway with an anxious look on her face, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt like she's worried something bad is about to happen.

She hesitates before saying, "He refused to take it off."

Tucker blinks one more time before snapping out of it, his fatherly instincts taking over immediately, just as they did back when Junior tried keeping other kids' toys as a toddler. "C'mon, Junior, don't be like that," he says automatically. "You know it doesn't belong to you."

"Annie gave it to me," Junior replies, then adds: "It's got Captain America's shield on it!" as though that has any bearing on the situation.

"Yeah, well, I bet Annie doesn't pay for her clothes, so..."

"But she _gave_ it to me!"

"You don't even care about Captain America!" Tucker points out, much to Junior's displeasure. "You like The Falcon way better than him!"

Junior scowls.

While they argue, the woman Tucker doesn't know abruptly relaxes, shoulders visibly slumping in relief once she sees that Tucker's not upset. He wonders what she thought he was gonna do, anyway. Punish Junior, maybe? Yell and scream and put up a fight? Oh, please. It’s just a...okay, it’s a _skirt_ and Tucker doesn’t exactly know how to wrap his mind around it, but it’s not _that_ big of a deal.

Tucker sighs, feeling a headache coming on. "Look, I don't care what happened," he tells Junior, "you can't just go taking things that don't belong to you, okay? So take the skirt off."

"But—"

" _Now,_ Junior."

For a second, it looks like Junior is going to kick up a fuss, but soon enough the moment passes, allowing Tucker to breathe a sigh of relief. He watches as Junior slips the skirt off without so much as another word, though the baleful look on his face definitely says it all.

Tucker sighs again.

The woman gives him a sympathetic look over Junior's head, then holds her hand out in introduction. "I'm Donna," she says. Her hands are soft, but her handshake is firm. "Mike's wife."

Just as Donna moves to let him in, Annie's head pops out from the living room, a look of consternation on her face when Junior silently wanders over to give the skirt to her. "Dad said I had to give it back," he says sullenly.

"But I gave it to you," Annie protests.

Tucker makes a face. "Ugh, not this again."

Donna rubs her temple with two fingers, looking pained. It makes Tucker wonder how long they were all arguing before she showed up. After a moment, he shrugs and puts it out of his mind. After all, with Junior being as stubborn as he is, it could have taken all afternoon.

Tucker rocks back on his feet. "So, uh, where's Wash?"

Donna looks relieved to be able to change the subject, but a little bit confused by the name. "Wash?" she repeats bemusedly before a look of realization comes over her. "Oh, _David_. Right. Well, he's in the backyard with everybody else. I just came inside to check on the kids."

"We were watching a movie," Annie explains with a frown. She doesn't look pleased to have been interrupted. Tucker glances at Junior and sees him looking much the same, his disappointment at it being time to leave obvious on his face.

"That's cool," Tucker says inanely. He nods at Annie before turning to Donna. "Thanks for keeping an eye on Junior today. And, uh, sorry about the skirt thing. I don't know what got into him."

"It's no problem," she assures him. "I know how kids can be."

“Yeah,” Tucker says. “They’re all…”

He waves his hand in the air, trying to encompass all of childhood in a single gesture. Donna nods, though Annie seems somewhat outraged, scowling up at her mother as if mortally offended.

“We’re not little kids,” Annie says hotly.

Donna arches an eyebrow. “We never said you were.”

"Yeah, no way!" Tucker says, cutting in quickly. "I definitely didn't hear anyone say the word little. How 'bout you, Junior? Did you hear that?"

Junior looks like he doesn't want to get involved, but he reluctantly agrees with them anyway, wincing when Annie glares at him for not taking her side.

Tucker quickly moves to break the tension, but Donna gets there first, drawing herself up to her full height before turning to Tucker and saying, "If we're done here, I can take you out back to introduce you to everyone."

He startles. Everyone? As in Wash's entire family? At _once_?

"No!" Tucker blurts out. Donna's eyebrows fly up, surprise written all over her face. Tucker feels himself flush in response, glad that his skin is dark enough to make it make it unnoticeable. "That's okay. Junior and I really have to go. We're gonna be late for dinner if we don't leave now."

Junior tilts his head. "We're going to dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," Tucker lies. "Church invited us over when we hung out with each other during lunch. Now you'll finally get to congratulate them for getting married."

Junior perks up a bit at that. "Do they still have leftover wedding cake?"

“Uh, probably?” Tucker says. He glances at Donna, who looks at him knowingly, then back at Junior, who only peers up at him with a look of earnestness on his face. Tucker continues with a bit more desperation. “Jeez, dude. I don’t know what they have in their fridge!”

Junior frowns at the sharpness of the reply. Surprisingly, though, it’s Donna who speaks up first. “Don’t worry,” she tells him with a look of amusement on her face, “I'll tell everyone you had something important to do."

He can tell she doesn't believe a word he's saying, but relief floods through him at her willingness to play along anyway. "Thanks," he says gratefully. "And, uh, tell Wash I'll call him later?"

"Will do," she replies, and Tucker takes that as his cue to say goodbye. He tugs Junior over and wraps a hand around his shoulder, leading him out of the house without another word. Junior only fights him long enough to say goodbye to Annie and Donna, but immediately lets himself be led after that's done, following his father into the car without saying another word.

Tucker waits until they’re inside before turning to Junior and saying, "Okay, you know I lied about that whole dinner thing, right? Church and Tex didn’t really invite us over."

Junior nods solemnly. “I know, Dad. I was just pretending."

Tucker nods back, the sheer relief flooding through him completely out of proportion with the situation. “Alright, cool. I just wanted to make sure,” he replies. He puts the key in the ignition, then waits a few seconds, doing absolutely nothing else to start the car.

"Dad?" Junior says after a moment. "Why aren't we—"

"So," Tucker blurts out, "you gonna tell me what the whole skirt thing was about, or what?"

Junior’s gaze darkens abruptly. "They were making fun of Annie!"

Tucker feels disoriented by a wave of déjà vu. The situation is so much like the one that took place only a few days ago that it leaves Tucker reeling a little, forcing him to shake it off in order to focus on Junior's words.

"Okay," Tucker says slowly, "so what does that have to do with you wearing a skirt? Because, I mean, it really sucks that they were teasing her, but I'm not really getting the connection."

Junior takes a deep breath, visibly trying to get his temper under control long enough to get the story out. "These kids at the park asked me if I wanted to play basketball with them, so I said I wouldn't unless Annie could play too. But then they laughed and said Annie can't play because she's a _girl_ , so—"

Tucker scratches his head. "So...you put on a skirt?"

Junior shakes his head emphatically.

Tucker thinks about it for a long moment. Then: "Nope. Still don't get it."

Junior heaves the biggest, most frustrated sigh that Tucker's ever heard from him. "I'm not _there_ yet," he says in exasperation. Tucker throws his hands up defensively, and it's only after a moment of silence goes by that Junior continues. "So Annie said she could beat them with her skirt on and I said me too and then they all laughed harder."

Tucker's not exactly surprised to hear it. Nor, he finds, is he surprised at the sharp burst of anger he feels at the thought of Junior and Annie having to deal with their mockery.

"And then we said _we could so_ beat them with skirts on, only we didn't have any 'cause Annie and I were wearing pants, so we said we'd beat 'em tomorrow instead."

"So Annie decided to give you a spare skirt."

"Yup," Junior says.

Tucker nods mechanically. He guesses that makes sense in a little kid sort of way, and it _definitely_ makes sense in a Junior kind of way. But still, it doesn't seem like a good idea. Junior's already been bullied enough. Wearing a skirt isn't exactly going to make that change for the better.

But Junior's eyes are glinting with passionate defiance, and his determination is practically seeping through his pores. It means a lot to him that he get to do this, that much is obvious, and he believes in himself and Annie so strongly that Tucker's not sure he can take that away from him.

So Tucker looks at his son and finally gives in with a total lack of surety in his heart. "Okay, you win," he tells Junior. "You can wear a skirt tomorrow. But not Annie's, okay? You're gonna wear one of your own."

Junior blinks rapidly for a few startled seconds, confusion marked on every square inch of his face, from his furrowed brows to his slightly down-turned lips. "Um," he says. "Um, but I don't have a skirt?"

"I know," Tucker says grimly, "which is why we're gonna go get you one."

* * *

 

It doesn't take long for Tucker to regret the decision.

“They don’t have anything cool!” Junior complains.

Tucker’s beginning to wonder if he’s being played or something. Not that he doubts that there was really a bet or anything, but Junior’s never been the type to have only one reason for doing something, so why should this be any different?

To be honest, Tucker’s not sure what to think about that. All he knows is that they’ve been shopping for over an hour and they haven’t found a single skirt that Junior approves of yet.

Tucker leans against a wall mirror and groans. “Why does it matter if it’s cool? You’re only wearing it for like an hour at most.”

Junior looks shifty for just a moment, but immediately wipes the look on his face, allowing a mixture of impatience and exasperation replace it. “Dad,” he says with a frown, “I’m not gonna wear anything that looks _dumb_.”

Tucker sighs. "Okay, but I'm not seeing anything with superheroes on it, okay? So you might have to settle for something else, like..." He spots something out of the corner of his eye that might work. "How about that?"

Junior follows his gaze to a two-layered skirt that looks like it was left over from the Fourth of July. The blue top layer is covered in white stars, while the bottom layer consists of red and white stripes. It's probably as close to Annie's Captain America skirt as they're gonna get.

"What do you think?" Tucker asks. He grabs it before Junior can say no, so ready to get out of the store that he's willing to say anything to get Junior to agree. "If Annie wears the other skirt, you and her can match tomorrow. Kinda like having team jerseys or something."

Junior looks intrigued. “I guess…”

Tucker perks up at Junior's easy acquiescence. "Great! So let's just buy it and get this over with already," he tells Junior, "because I'm getting sick of—"

"But I have to try it on first!" Junior protests.

Tucker's shoulders slump dramatically. He's beginning to get the feeling that he's never getting out of here. "But we already know your size," he tries, "so we—"

Junior shakes his head. "Not for skirts!"

Tucker sighs, because Junior's got him there. For all Tucker knows, skirts are sized in some incomprehensible standard that only girls understand. "Fine," he grumbles, then grabs a few of the skirts in different sizes and shoves them all into Junior's arms. "Try these on, then."

_"Dad_ ," Junior says in exasperation, "I don't need _five_."

Regardless, he goes trotting off to the changing room without another complaint, coming out of it a few minutes later looking pleased with himself and the entire world. "It fits!" he exclaims happily, then frowns as he looks down, looking uncertainly at his bare legs.

"What's up?" Tucker asks.

Junior’s nose wrinkles. “It feels weird.”

“What, the skirt?”

“ _No_ ,” Junior says with a brief scowl. “My _legs_. They feel weird. Like...”

Tucker’s lips twitch upward without his consent. He doesn’t mean to make fun of Junior, but it’s kind of funny nonetheless. “Uh, dude?” he begins, “I think the word you’re looking for is _exposed_. Or maybe breezy. Or maybe even—”

“ _Dad!_ ”

Tucker cracks up at the look on Junior's face. It's just so peevish, so outraged and annoyed that Tucker can't help but be amused at the sight.

"You shouldn't make fun of her," a woman pipes up out of nowhere, disapproval heavy in her tone. They turn toward the direction of the voice, identical frowns on both of their faces, and discover that it belongs to a little old white lady who looks like the type who's always giving unsolicited opinions. "If you make fun of her now, she might not want to wear a skirt again."

Tucker and Junior exchange glances. This isn't the first time that some random on the street decided to lecture him on being a good father, but it _is_ the first time that someone thought he was being a bad father to a _girl_.

Junior makes a face. "I'm not a—"

But the woman isn't paying him any attention. She's too busy getting in Tucker's face like any of this is even her business. "You really should leave these things to her mother," she says with a condescending look. "Some things just need a woman's touch."

Tucker narrows his eyes, debating whether or not being rude would get him out of this discussion faster. After a moment, he decides what the hell and decides to go for it. "Yeah. Whatever, lady. No one cares what you—"

"She's your _daughter!_ Of course you should—"

Junior scowls. "No, I'm _not!"_ he says angrily. The lady looks confused for a second, then visibly comes to the wrong conclusion, clearly assuming they're brothers or something. Junior is quick to correct her. "I'm not a girl!"

Tucker watches her look at Junior's round face and longish curls and slowly reevaluate the entire situation. Quick as a whip, Tucker points Junior toward the dressing room before he can see the woman's disgusted look, telling him that he'd better go get changed.

The woman shakes her head in disbelief. "You let him—"

"Back off," Tucker says threateningly. He knows better than to cause a scene and come off like the scary black guy, but just this once he can't help himself. That's his _kid_ she's talking about. "Just back off and go shop someplace else, okay? Nobody here cares what you think."

His voice must've carried, because a nearby clerk looks up and decides to come over. "Is there a problem here?" she asks frostily. It's not clear which of them she's talking to, but Tucker has his suspicions. He's just about to open his mouth and answer when Junior comes out of the dressing room holding a pile of skirts and a hesitant look on his face.

“Dad?”

He must have gotten undressed and redressed at the speed of light. Regardless, Tucker takes a step forward and wraps an arm around Junior's shoulder, tugging him into Tucker's side. "C'mon, Junior, let's pay for this and get out of here. This place is filled with assholes."

The two women look affronted but say nothing, giving Tucker and Junior plenty of time to put the spare skirts back on the rack they came from and wander over to the cash register, where they thankfully don't have to wait on line.

"Dad?" Junior says again, sounding muted this time. "Can you come to my game tomorrow?"

Tucker squeezes his shoulder tighter. "Like you even have to ask."

* * *

 

They're quiet as they make their way out of the mall and the mood remains solemn for a long, long time, neither of them willing to speak about what happened earlier at the girl's department. Junior in particular seems unwilling to speak, but unlike Tucker, he clearly has something to say if the way he keeps glancing over is any indication.

After Junior peeks at him for the fourth time without saying a word, Tucker finally has to ask what's up, so he waits until they're at a stoplight to turn to Junior and ask him, "What's with the looks?"

Junior looks at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "Nothing!" he blurts out in a panic. His hands wave frantically in the air. "I wasn't looking at anybody!"

Tucker arches an eyebrow skeptically.

Junior ducks his head, but despite Tucker's urging, he doesn't say anything more until Tucker is parking the car. Only then does he say in a voice that's almost too low to hear: "Um, if you don't want me to wear the skirt, I won't."

Tucker glances at him. "What? Why wouldn't I want you to wear the skirt?"

Junior shrugs. "'Cause it's embarrassing?"

Junior is carefully avoiding his eyes, completely unable to hold his gaze for more than a second without looking away. He holds himself smaller than he usually does, keeping himself taut and tiny, looking like all his self-worth is wrapped up tight in whatever Tucker manages to say next.

Just for a second, Tucker lets himself remember the first time he held Junior in his arms. He remembers looking down at the tiniest and most perfect baby he had ever seen and knowing deep within his soul that he would protect that child with everything he had.

So Tucker smiles and reaches over to ruffle Junior's hair, because in the end that's all that matters. “Nah, who cares?” he says casually. “It’s not like I never let the place between my knees breathe, right?

Junior gives him a wide eyed, disbelieving stare.

Tucker shrugs. "Remind me to tell you about my freshman year of college one day."

"Okay," Junior replies, but he still looks dumbfounded, at least until he sees Tucker watching. Then, he looks away as quickly as he can, fingers fumbling with the door in such a clumsy way that Tucker can almost ignore the slight sheen of tears.

"Junior—"

But it's too late. Junior is already flying out the car. Tucker follows as hastily as he can, his longer legs allowing him to catch up easily. He grabs for Junior before they can reach the steps, and for one brief moment the two of them are frozen in place, the distance between them an insurmountable wall that neither can break down or destroy.

"Junior," Tucker begins again.

To his dismay, Junior backs up, taking two steps away from him toward the stairs—

"Junior," Tucker says desperately.

—before shocking them both by leaping forward and throwing himself into Tucker's arms. He says nothing, but holds himself close, clinging to his father as if desperately afraid that something somewhere will tear them apart.

Tucker kisses his hair and promises them both that nothing ever will, promises that he'll love Junior no matter what, promises that nothing could ever change that.

He promises a lot of things that night, and Tucker means every one of them.

 


	8. The Big Game

Tucker wakes up bright and early the next morning, long before even Junior has gotten up for the day. He’s not sure _why_ he’s up at the crack of dawn, but he uses the time to his advantage, hopping in the shower for a long, relaxing wash before heading to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

He stands by the counter as it’s brewing, just letting the smell of it soothe his wild nerves. He won’t be fully awake until he gets some caffeine in him, but just the smell of it helps a little, making him realize what was bothering him enough to get him up before six in the morning.

Today is Junior’s basketball game.

Tucker sighs, his head bowing for a moment. Yesterday’s moment in the store didn’t exactly calm his concern about Junior potentially being bullied. If anything, it made him _more_ concerned, fully aware of the fact that him getting made fun of was almost a certainty. Just the thought of it is enough to have Tucker’s heart clenching tight in his chest.

He does his best to shake it off, dismissing the thought firmly from his mind while his hands busy themselves with opening the cabinet and pulling out his favorite mug. By then, the coffee is done being brewed, so he doesn’t waste any time in making himself a cup to drink.

He sips it carefully while wondering what else he's gonna do with his free afternoon. Junior and Annie's play date won't take up more than a few hours, which leaves him plenty of time to do something productive, like catching up on the work he's missing or avoiding Wash's family some more.

Somehow, though, he doubts that Wash is gonna let him get away with it, especially after sneaking out with Junior just last night without saying goodbye.

Tucker makes a face. He's going to be hearing about that one for a while, that's for damn sure, but some strange part of him thinks that it's better to get it over with, which is why his hand goes to his phone almost without thinking.

Wash—the _asshole_ —is wide awake at seven in the morning while on his vacation, which is so ridiculously like him that Tucker has to fight the urge to puke rainbows or something equally stupid.

"Ugh, _you,_ " Tucker says out loud.

Washington doesn't miss a beat. He huffs, sounding affronted, and says, "Excuse me? Tucker, you're the one who called _me_ —"

"Yeah, I know," Tucker interrupts with a scowl on his face that Wash can't see. What's that got to do with anything? And more importantly: "What the fuck are you doing up this early? You should be in bed sleeping the day away!”

"I get up this time every day!" Wash protests.

"I know!" Tucker exclaims. "And it's stupid!"

After a moment, Washington just sighs. "Did you call me up for any real reason," he asks Tucker drily, "or is just another one of your random moments of irrationality?"

"The second one," Tucker tells him honestly, before thinking about it for a moment and being forced to amend his statement. "Wait, no. I mean both." He scratches his head. "I wanted to know if you were gonna come to Annie and Junior's game today."

"I wasn't planning on it," Washington says.

"Oh," Tucker replies, mildly irritated to hear a small bit of disappointment escape into his voice. "That's cool. It's not a big deal or anything. I just didn't want to be the only adult there."

He can hear a frown in Wash's voice when he responds. "Well, Donna was planning on taking Annie..." He pauses and turns pointedly wry in the blink of an eye. "You _do_ remember Donna, don't you? I was told you met her yesterday."

Tucker shifts guiltily and says nothing.

Eventually, Washington sighs. "She told me you couldn't stay because you had dinner plans with Church and Texas," he says, then stops, waiting for Tucker to explain himself.

"Uh, yeah, I kinda freaked out," Tucker blurts out.

"...what?"

"I freaked out," Tucker repeats himself, sounding antsy to his own ears. He runs his hand nervously over the crown of his head, hoping that Wash will take him at his word. "I freaked out 'cause I didn't want to meet everyone all at once." He hesitates, and when Wash doesn't say anything, he continues defensively, "You said I wouldn't have to."

Washington is quiet for a long time. "You're right," he admits finally, sounding a tiny bit regretful, "I _did_ say that. I promised you we would take it slow…which is why you'll only have to meet Mike and his family tonight."

"Yeah," Tucker says, "...wait, what?"

"I'm glad you agree with the plan," Wash says smoothly. Despite the evenness of his voice, there's a sly note in it that cannot be mistaken. Tucker's eyes narrow down at his coffee at the sound of it.

"Are you trying to trick me into being social?"

"You've already met Donna and Annie," Washington points out. "Meeting three more people shouldn't be too difficult."

"You don't know that," Tucker mutters. "Besides, it's three more people _and_ your parents. That's gonna be, like, twice as hard."

"You won't have to deal with that tonight," Washington assures him. "I've decided to treat my parents to an early dinner at that restaurant the Director took us to for York and Carolina's engagement party. They'll be out of the house for a few hours."

Wash has thought of everything, he thinks resentfully, leaving no possible reason for him to say no. Tucker groans inwardly. “Ugh, fine, whatever,” he says. “I'll stick around for coffee or something after the game.”

“Don't sound so eager,” Washington says in a voice that's as dry as bone. “You might actually convince me this isn't torture for you.”

“Hey, I'm trying, okay?” Tucker says defensively. “That's gotta be good for something, right?”

Wash weighs that over in his mind for a second. “That's true,” he admits after a moment has gone by. “I haven't been giving you enough credit.”

“Yeah,” Tucker responds, but his heart’s not in it. Wash’s easy acquiescence leaves Tucker shifting uneasily, some strange emotion welling up in his chest. To his surprise, he finds himself biting his cheek to stop an unnecessary apology from slipping over his tongue. In the end, though, he shrugs it off and blurts out, “I'll forgive you if you come with us today.”

“To the game?”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Yeah, to the game. What else?”

“I—alright,” Washington replies, sounding bemused. “I can always change my plans with Mike.”

Tucker wants to say that it's alright, that he doesn't need Wash after all, but selflessness has never really been his style. “Cool,” he decides to say instead, “then we’ll meet you at your house around two o’clock.”

“I'll see you then,” Wash says agreeably. “Goodbye, Tucker.”

Tucker says goodbye and hangs up the phone with a little sigh of relief. Somehow, he already feels better about the game this afternoon. Just having Wash there will make everything okay.

He smiles and feels the tension leave his shoulders.

A few minutes later, Junior wanders into the kitchen and promptly makes a face when he sees Tucker. “Um,” he begins, “how come you're up so early? You don't have to go to work today.”

Tucker blinks twice and then laughs.

“You know what, Junior? I have no idea.”

Junior obviously doesn't get the joke, but he smiles at Tucker regardless, leaving them both staring at each other with the same stupid grin on their face. It's enough to erase the remains of Tucker's anxiety.

“So, hey,” Tucker says casually, “how ‘bout we do something fun before your game this afternoon? Something we don't usually do.”

Junior tilts his head and comes closer. “Like what?”

“Heh,” Tucker replies, “I don't know. I'm sure we’ll think of something.”

* * *

 

Four hours later sees Tucker and Junior curled up on opposite sides of the couch, both of them clutching their stomach tight.

“Ugh,” Tucker groans, “I think I'm gonna puke.”

A high-pitched whimper escapes Junior’s throat. “Don't say puke,” he pleads with his father. He moans pitifully. “You're gonna make _me_ puke.”

Tucker waves a hand toward the side of the room opposite himself. “Well, just aim that way,” is his only response, a statement which earns him a pained, yet indignant scowl from Junior.

Tucker's beginning to think that making, decorating and eating over two dozen cupcakes wasn't such a good idea after all. At the very least, they shouldn't have followed it up with an impromptu practice basketball game and a way too energetic round of Wii Tennis.

By the time the sugar crash finally hit them, they were almost dizzy with the desire to blow chunks all over the living room floor, the combination of frantic activity mixed with too many cupcakes clearly more than their bodies could handle.

Junior sighs dramatically.

Tucker lifts his head. “...what?”

“I think I'm gonna _die_ before me and Annie get to beat those guys today,” Junior proclaims with a vicious pout. He sighs again, deep and forlorn, as though nothing could stop the agony he feels at the very idea.

Tucker rolls his eyes when Junior isn't looking. “You're not gonna die,” he says in exasperation. He shifts and gets caught in a wave of nausea that has his eyes squeezing shut in pain. “Okay, you're _probably_ not gonna die.”

“D _a-ad_!” Junior whines.

“I mean, you're definitely not gonna die,” Tucker says quickly. “All you have to do is sleep it off and you're totally gonna be fine.”

Junior quiets at that, clearly thinking it over. “But won't we be late if I go to sleep?” he asks. “I don't wanna look like I was too scared to play them.”

“Nah,” Tucker replies. “We have—” A quick check of the cable box tells him that they don't have to leave for a while. “We have plenty of time. You can get to sleep _and_ be ready by the time we have to hop in the car.”

Junior hesitates at that some more, but eventually gives a reluctant nod, settling down and drifting off while Tucker struggles to do the same. He wishes it were as easy for him to drop off, but the couch isn't as comfortable as it used to be and he's about twenty years too old to just conk out the way that Junior does.

In the end, though, he _does_ manage it, and only wakes up a half an hour before its time for them to leave. “Junior!” he says while reaching his foot out. He nudges Junior gently in the side. “Junior, it's time to get up.”

“No, it's not,” Junior mumbles blearily.

“Yeah, dude, I'm afraid it is,” Tucker replies, smiling at the denial. He nudges Junior again, rolling his eyes when Junior takes it as a cue to curl up further into the couch cushions. “Seriously, you've gotta get up soon if you want to make your game.”

Junior pulls one of the back cushions over his head and half of his body. “I don’t have a game,” he insists, his words coming out muffled, but still recognizable. “I can sleep all day.”

Tucker shakes his head fondly. “C’mon, are you seriously gonna let those douchebags at the park win? No way! You've gotta get up!”

Junior considers his words. Then, after a moment of silence, the pillow gets tossed off, landing somewhere in the vicinity of the right side up. “Okay,” Junior tells him. “But I get to sleep in all day tomorrow.”

The odds of Junior wanting to waste time sleeping when he could be hanging out with his friends or playing video games is so astronomically low that Tucker agrees with him immediately.

“Sure, if you want,” he says.

Junior eyes him suspiciously, waiting for the catch, but gets up when it doesn't come, padding off toward the bathroom without another word. Tucker absentmindedly fixes the cushion as he watches Junior go, mind already on something else entirely.

Namely, how he's going to survive tonight's dinner.

Tucker's still thinking about it when Junior returns about two minutes before they have to leave, which is cutting it close, but still not late enough to get him in trouble. As previously decided, he's wearing his fake Captain America skirt and the blue Avengers t-shirt he wore to dinner the other night. It hasn’t been washed, but Junior doesn’t seem to care, so Tucker just shrugs and decides not to as well.

“Ready?” Tucker asks.

Junior nods.

“Then let's get going.”

They pack into the car with only moments to spare, piling in with a quickness they don't quite need, as it’s probably not going to matter if they get there five or ten minutes late. Or at least, that's what _Tucker_ thinks. Junior apparently has other ideas.

“They're gonna say we were scared of them!”

“No, they're not,” Tucker lies, kind enough not to mention the fact that _Junior_ is the reason they won't be there early. “Besides, we’re not gonna be late. We’re gonna be exactly on time. We might even arrive before them!”

“But what if Annie isn't ready yet?” Junior protests.

Tucker scoffs without having to think about it at all. “Oh, please. She's related to _Wash_ ,” he points out. “I bet she gets up early for fun. That kind of shit is genetic or something.”

“Really?” Junior says doubtfully.

“Dude, it's science. It's gotta be right!”

“Huh,” Junior responds. He pauses to think about it, clearly intrigued if the look on his face is any indication. “That's cool. Do you think Delta knows anything about that?”

“About what? Genetics?”

Junior nods.

“I don't know, probably,” Tucker replies. “He's like a genius, right? So I bet he knows way more about it than me. And if he doesn't, then you two can always go online and read up on it when you've got some time.”

“Okay,” Junior says. He nods almost to himself and turns to stare out of the window, brain still visibly caught up in whatever plans he's making in his head. Tucker shrugs and leaves him to it, turning back to the traffic and his own mixed up thoughts.

What if…What if it turns out that Wash’s brother is a total dick?

Tucker's not sure if he could handle that. He's never been good at keeping his mouth shut, much less around total assholes, so if Mike sucks, then Tucker's gonna say something about it, which will undoubtedly get him on Wash’s bad side.

Today’s gonna _blow_ , and not in a good way.

The only way his day could get any worse is if someone decides to fuck with his kid. And holy fuck, what if Mike is _that_ kind of dick? What if _he’s_ the reason Donna was so worried about Junior being in a skirt?

Fuck, is Tucker gonna have to smack a bitch?

Tucker waits until they're at a stoplight to turn to Junior.

"Okay, this is like the only time you're ever gonna hear me say this, but if a kid starts shit with you when you're wearing that skirt, you go ahead and kick their asses. And if a teenager or an adult starts shit with you, come get me, okay? Don't try to handle it on your own unless you have no choice."

His voice is hard and completely serious, with no room for arguments or compromises. Junior nods solemnly in response. Tucker's not sure if he fully understands why, but at least he seems to get that it _is_ important.

Slowly, Tucker relaxes again. It takes a moment, but he’s finally able to get back on the road, calming himself down by telling himself that Mike probably isn’t a _total_ douchebag. Still, to Tucker's relief, it's Donna who answers the door when they get there.

"You're in luck," she says with a conspiratorial smile. "David managed to convince the others to go out for brunch. It's just me and Annie right now.”

Tucker relaxes at the news. Wash will definitely be getting laid sometime soon for wrangling that just for Tucker, even if it’ll probably be a few days before he can deliver on that promise. “Where is Wash anyway?” he asks, coming up on his tiptoes to look over her head.

“Oh, he’s in the kitchen cleaning up,” Donna explains. “He and Annie had a little adventure this morning when it came time to make pancakes. They wound up having to settle for eating something else.”

Annie appears as if on cue, with a small saucer in hand with a fork and a piece of chocolate cake sitting on top. “Hi!” she chirps, then catches Junior staring at the cake in fear. “Do you want some?”

He promptly turns a very faint green and shakes his head, actually backing away a few steps as though she is contagious.

“That's cool,” Tucker says hastily, “but he already had like a million cupcakes earlier, so I think he's good.”

Junior nods with hilariously wide eyes. “They made me _really_ sick,” he tells them in a solemn, yet earnest voice. “Dad, too.”

Annie and Donna both glance at Tucker at the same time, Annie with curiosity and Donna with more than a hint of amusement. Tucker shrugs sheepishly in response. “Probably shouldn't have eaten all of the leftover icing afterwards,” he says.

Donna’s lips twitch. “Probably not.”

They all stand there staring at each other for a moment, Donna in amusement, Tucker in embarrassment, and the kids in bored indifference. For all of them, it’s a relief when Wash finally shows up at the door and politely pushes his way in front.

Tucker inhales sharply. “Wash.”

“Tucker,” Wash replies.

Tucker chews on his lower lip for a second, the unexpected awkwardness hitting him like a punch to the nuts. He doesn't know how he's supposed to react. Does he kiss Wash hello in front of Donna and Annie? Does he settle for a weird wave?

He’s just decided to go for a bro hug when Wash answers the question by ducking down and kissing Tucker gently on the corner of his mouth. Like always, Tucker softens at the touch. His eyes drift shut for only a second, body swaying forward in an effort to hold on to the feeling.

He's smiling when they pull apart.

“Hey, Wash,” Tucker breathes.

Washington’s lip quirks up. “Hello, Tucker.”

Wash doesn't bother to put any distance between them, which Tucker would be happy about if it weren't for Donna looking at them like she finds them adorable, which is such a humiliating idea that Tucker immediately jumps away from Wash, putting a fair bit of distance between them.

“So, hey, how about that game today?” he blurts out. He shifts from foot to foot anxiously, feeling like his face is burning. “I bet you two are gonna kick ass. Wait, I mean butts! You're going to kick butts!” He pauses, then cringes as he turns to Annie. “Don't tell your grandma.”

Annie shrugs easily. “I won't.”

“Neither will I,” Donna says, sounding amused.

Tucker’s about to open his mouth to say his thanks when he notices for the first time what Annie is wearing. He squints, unsure of whether he’s seeing things or not, but sure enough, she’s wearing a plain black skirt overtop a ninja outfit of all things. The face covering is off, but Tucker knows a ninja costume when he sees one.

“Uh,” Tucker begins. “What’s with the—”

He nods at the outfit when they all just stare blankly.

“Oh!” Donna exclaims. She smiles at him, then down at Annie, looking so proud of her that Annie actually shies away with a pained look. “This is Annie’s Kick-Butt outfit.”

“Only with a skirt on!” Annie explains with a nod. She narrows her eyes in determination, as if she expects him to argue with her. “Because ninjas can wear skirts, right?”

“Right!” Tucker says hastily. He fights the urge to take a step back, reassuring himself that there’s no way in hell that a nine year old is intimidating him now. Regardless, it’s still a relief when Junior steps in front of him.

“Dad,” Junior says patiently, “you're being a dork again.”

...or maybe not.

Tucker scowls down at Junior’s head. “Hey,” he says pointedly. “Maybe we should stick around a little longer and talk some more. I’m sure it won’t make us late or anything.”

Junior goes straight as a board. He whirls around, alarm in his eyes, and grabs hold of Tucker’s sleeve, tugging on it urgently to get his attention. “Dad. Dad, we have to go,” he responds. He turns and looks back at the rest. “We can’t be late.”

“We won't be,” Wash says in a firm voice, calming Junior down almost instantaneously. Washington blinks hard at the quickness with which Junior relaxed, looking floored by the matter of fact show of faith.

Tucker smiles. “Cool. Then let’s go, okay?”

“Hold on, hold on!” Annie cries. She goes running back into the house with her saucer still in hand and comes back empty handed moments later, her mouth comically covered in chocolate icing. She licks it off while the adults try not to laugh at her, and still has traces of it on her lips when they finally make their way to the basketball court inside the park.

To everyone’s annoyance, the two jerkass kids make them wait to play, too busy joking around with their jerkass friends to even acknowledge the presence of Junior and Annie. By the time they’re finally ready for the game, the tension has raised along with everyone’s temper, and Annie actually growls when one of the guys—a red headed kid who clearly doesn't value his own life—threatens to kick her ass back to jungle gym.

“I'm going to _destroy_ you,” she hisses, clearly meaning every word of it.

As she and the others go stomping off toward the middle of the court, Tucker and the adults settle down nearby, keeping toward the side of the court and out of anybody’s way. Junior glances over his shoulder and promptly lights up at the sight of them sitting there. Tucker preens for a second, even if he's a little confused about how happy Junior is to see him.

“He's not looking at _you_.”

Tucker head whips around at the sound of the unexpected voice. “Carolina?” he blurts out when he sees her standing there. His jaw falls open in shock. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She arches an eyebrow.

Tucker sighs. “It was Junior, wasn't it?”

Carolina snorts. “What do you think?”

“I think I need to steal his cell phone.”

Washington rolls his eyes at that and waves a hand at Carolina to sit down, somehow implying with the action that Tucker is being childish about this. It instantly makes Tucker want to pick a fight—with Carolina, with Wash, with anyone, really, as long as he gets to tell _someone_ they suck.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get the chance.

Donna suddenly jumps into the conversation, reminding everybody that she is there. “Hello, there!” she exclaims. “I don't believe we've met.”

Tucker makes a face. “Yeah, there's a reason for that.”

Wash looks up at the sky for strength.

“Ugh, fine!” Tucker says. He turns to Donna and continues grudgingly. “This is Carolina. She's like my...she's like a friend of the family.”

Carolina is too busy side eyeing him for that, but Donna promptly holds her hand out to shake. “I'm Donna,” she says warmly, “David’s sister-in-law.”

Carolina nods with a polite, yet faint smile. “I've heard a lot about you and your family,” she replies as they clasp each other's hand.

Wait, what?

Tucker frowns as he turns to face Wash. “Hey, how come she's heard a lot of stories, but I haven't?” he says indignantly. “That's bullshit! I'm your _boyfriend._ ”

Washington stares at him for a moment, then sighs when he sees that Tucker is perfectly serious. “Carolina and I have known each other a lot longer than you and I have,” he reminds Tucker. “So don't blow this out of proportion.”

“You mean if I had known you as long as Carolina has, I'd know just as much as she does?”

“Tucker,” Wash says patiently, “if you had known me as long as Carolina has, you'd know _more._ ”

Tucker’s eyes go wide and filled with wonder. Startled, a flush of pleasure warms his face, causing him to hastily turn away before anyone can see it. “Yeah, well, anyway,” he mutters. “We're gonna miss the game if we don't shut up.”

He focuses on the sight of the kids squaring off even though he can _feel_ Carolina smirking behind him. To his annoyance, she makes a point of sitting on his other side, making him even more aware of her presence at the game, but he doesn't say anything until Annie wins the opening tip.

“Junior didn't tell me that you were gonna be here,” Tucker mutters under his breath. He knows Carolina will hear him anyway; she always does when Tucker is talking about her.

“He doesn't tell you everything,” Carolina replies evenly.

Tucker bristles at the idea that he doesn't know enough about his kid. “What, you think he tells _you_ everything?” he snaps back a little too loudly if the way Donna’s head jerks toward them is any indication.

Wash nudges him gently in the side, a gentle reminder for him to calm down. They're at the park for the kids, is the unspoken reprimand, not to get in a fight with Carolina, so Tucker takes a very deep breath and tries his best to pay attention to the game.

“C’mon, Annie!” Donna shouts suddenly, surprising him into glancing her way. He glances back to the court just in time to see Annie steal the ball from one of the kids on the other team. Donna claps hard and hoots loudly, cheering when Junior comes out of nowhere just in time to catch the pass Annie throws at him.

For a second, the redhead manages to bat it away, but then Junior twists around and throws himself forward, stealing it back from him and making a lay-up.

“That’s how you do it!” Donna screams. “Just kill ‘em! Kill ‘em!!”

He and Carolina boggle at her, for once united in their complete and utter shock at the sudden transformation. Annie doesn’t seem to be surprised, so maybe it’s not so random after all, but for the rest of them, it’s possibly the weirdest thing to happen that day. Even Junior stops to gape.

He nudges Wash in the side to get his attention. ‘ _What the fuck?_ ’ Tucker mouths when he gets it, gratified when Washington stares back in equally wide-eyed astonishment. “It's like Jekyll and Hyde up in here!”

“I'm surprised you remember the story,” Carolina says, quietly amused.

Tucker rolls his eyes. “My mom likes musicals, remember? Besides, I—”

They all throw themselves to their feet when Junior is shoved hard, but before they can run over or protest, Junior has it well in hand, climbing to his feet and body checking the other boy with all the strength of a professional hockey player. Then, calm as anything, he steals the ball back and scores a field goal that has everyone cheering.

The rest of the game is far more sedate. The kids are pretty evenly matched, but Annie is better than anyone at focusing her frustration and anger, and Junior’s got a level of determination that cannot be denied. In contrast, the two other boys have very quick tempers, which screws up their game to the point of comedy. Junior and Annie have no trouble kicking their asses.

“Way to go!” Tucker cheers when it's all over. He gives both kids energetic high fives, grinning when they bounce and turn to give each other one of their own. “You owned their asses! I mean butts! You owned their butts!”

He can see Carolina smirk beside him, but for once, he's in too good of a mood to let it bother him. Instead, he hip checks her gently, grinning when she tenses before returning the motion. Washington watches them both for a second, then says something to the others that has them moving away, giving Tucker and Carolina some time alone.

“I'm still mad at you,” Tucker tells her seriously. Her gaze darkens, but clears when he rushes to explain. “Like, I guess I get that things are hard for you, too. Or whatever, I don't know. But you should probably know that Church is practically falling apart without you. And I think maybe you're falling apart without him too.”

Carolina doesn't do anything as obvious as hunching her shoulders or lowering her head, but Tucker's known her for two-thirds of his life and he knows how to speak Carolina better than almost anyone.

She's listening. For the first time, she's listening.

Tucker can't help but feel hope. “So, I don't know, maybe I'm just talking out of my ass, but you should probably think about how long you want everyone to be miserable, because at this point, you're the only one that can stop it.”

Carolina looks away.

Tucker hesitates. “Just...think about it, okay?” he tells her. He pauses for a moment before reaching out and squeezing her elbow for the slightest of moments. “You don't have to do anything. Just think.”

Carolina shakes her head, but not in a dismissive way. More like shaking herself out of a daze she's been in for a very long time, trying to get her head on straight for the first time in days. Tucker exhales slowly, unwilling to spook her back into her shell.

“Anyway,” he says after a few seconds have passed. “Me and Wash have gotta get back to his house. I’m supposed to be meeting big brother and family.” He rolls his eyes. “You know, ‘cause I'm so eager to do it.”

“I heard that!” Wash calls from a few feet away.

“So yeah, we gotta go,” Tucker says hastily. “I'll see you at the barbecue?”

“Maybe,” Carolina replies, but she's off before Tucker can protest that at all, wandering over to Junior to say her goodbyes and forcing Tucker to watch her go. Soon enough, she's gone from the park entirely, and he's left wondering whether he fixed things or not.

Then, just as he's about to rejoin the others, all but Washington turn and wave goodbye, leaving them behind at the park staring after them in confusion. Or, well, at least _Tucker’s_ confused. Wash doesn't seem to be, however, so Tucker quickly asks him what's going on.

“I asked them to give us some time alone together.”

“Oh,” Tucker says.

They look at each other for a very long time, just taking in the other's presence. It feels like forever since they've been alone together, or at least long enough to have forgotten what it's like. "So, uh," Tucker begins uncomfortably, "is this weird, or is it just me?"

Wash rubs his head with a rueful expression. "No, it's definitely weird," he admits even as he moves closer to Tucker. "But not necessarily in a _bad way."_

His hand brushes softly against Tucker's. They don't usually do this kind of thing, but just this once, he lets it happen without shying away, allowing Wash to interlace their fingers until they're warm and safe in each other's grasp.

"Let's take a walk," Washington suggests.

Tucker nods.

Together, they wander down the path, arms swaying with each step as they gaze around at nothing in particular. It’s a beautiful day, Tucker notes. The sun is shining, there’s not a cloud in sight and there's a nice breeze keeping the heat of the day away.

With Wash by his side, he feels himself settle into a calmness that's been missing for a while. He squeezes his hand just to feel Wash holding on tight, wishing that their hands were somewhere else entirely, drifting over each other's body until their skin memorizes each other's touch.

He wants to lean in and kiss Wash, wants to press his lips to the side of Wash's mouth, wants to bury his face in Washington's neck and smell that wonderful scent that is slowly becoming linked with home.

Tucker wants so much. He wants so much he can never say, so he settles for something at once true and completely the opposite of what he means to say.

"Dude, just walking around and stuff is boring as shit."

Washington freezes with one foot dangling in the air, then slowly puts it down as a look of reluctant amusement takes over his face. "I don't know what I expected," he murmurs to himself.

Tucker shrugs, though he feels his cheeks turn warm in embarrassment. He doesn't know what's in him that shies away from stuff like that, but it never fails to rear its ugly head, especially when Tucker is moments away from blurting out things he's never spoken aloud.

He just...he doesn't want their time together to end.

"Let's go to the diner," Tucker says impulsively. He tugs on Wash's hand, silently pleading with him to listen. "We haven't been there in like a month. I think I'm starting to get withdrawal."

He gives Wash his most hopeful look, but only receives a shake of the head in response. “We said we'd visit with my brother and his family today,” Washington points out.

Oh, yeah.

A wave of disappointment rushes over him at the reminder, along with more than a little bit of nervousness. “Nevermind,” Tucker says as quickly as he can. “What was I talking about? Walking’s great! We should totally keep doing that.”

“Tucker…”

“I mean, there's gotta be a reason people are always talking about doing it for fun, right? The world can't be _that_ fucked up.”

“Tucker!”

He sighs, giving up before he can really get going. “Ugh, fine, whatever,” he mutters under his breath. “You don't have to start yelling about it or anything.”

“I wasn't yelling,” Wash protests.

“That's why I said you don't have to _start_ ,” Tucker points out. Washington looks mollified, but only a little, as if he suspects Tucker is really just humoring him. Which, to be fair, Tucker _is,_ because Wash was _totally_ about to get pissy with him.

“Regardless,” Wash replies, “I don't—”

Tucker heaves a huge sigh, already tired of arguing even though they've barely just begun. “Look, can we just keep walking before one of us ruins things?” he says plaintively. “Because I don't want to fight with you today.”

Washington startles hard. “I don't—you think this is fighting?” he asks, sounding shocked. “I thought we were just…”

“What?”

“Bickering. The way we always do.”

Tucker has to stop for a second to get his head on straight, a sudden feeling of guilt, strangely, rising up from deep inside of him. “Fuck,” he breathes as his eyes slip closed. “Fuck, you're right. Sorry. I'm just—”

Wash darts in and kisses him before he can get the explanation out. Tucker settles into the kiss the way he settles into sleeping, letting himself relax completely until he's finally ready to give in. And when he does give in, he lets Wash take control, keeping the kiss slow and steady until he's almost dizzy with the desire for more.

With a sigh, he finally pushes away.

“We should go before we start something we can't finish,” Tucker murmurs. He licks his lips, watching Wash watch him, and fights the urge to lean in again. “Unless you wanna go back to my place?”

He's wistful, but not really surprised when Washington shakes his head. “As much as I’d like to go home,” Wash begins, and to Tucker's pleasure, he sounds like he really means it, “we should probably start heading back to my place before they start to wonder what we’re doing.”

Tucker smirks. “Nah, just tell ‘me that you were…”

His brain freezes as his memory catches up with him. ‘ _Home,’_ Wash had said. ‘ _As much as I’d like to go home_.’ Not ‘as much as I want to go back to yours.’ No, because that wouldn't mean the same thing at all.

But _home…_

Now, that means something else entirely.

Tucker spends the rest of their walk in a daze.

* * *

 

By the time they get back, Tucker has his head on straight, feeling as though the elation will get him through this dinner without stressing too much. After all, what's a stupid dinner when Wash thinks of Tucker's place as home? It's nothing. No, it's _less_ than nothing.

So Tucker's pretty okay with whatever may come his way.

That is, except for what actually does.

They’re only two feet into the door before they hear the sound of laughter coming from down the hall. Tucker cocks his head, caught by the sound of it. There’s something vaguely familiar about the sound that he can’t quite place, something that he hasn’t quite heard, but could easily imagine.

Is that…?

Tucker’s head whips around once he recognizes the voices, jerking to the side in order to glare at Wash. “Wait,” he says accusingly, “I thought you said your parents weren't going to be here tonight!”

Washington frowns. “They aren’t supposed to be.”

Tucker watches as Wash’s eyebrows furrow in a mix of confusion and dismay. Slowly, he feels his anger melt away. Wash didn't know about this. He wasn't a liar. It wasn't some kind of fucking set-up. So Tucker inhales deeply and tries to figure out how they're going to handle this.

“You could always wait in here while I ask them why they aren't at dinner,” Wash suggests, proving that thing about couples reading each other’s minds might have some truth to it.

Tucker scrunches up his nose, even though he always feels like a little kid when he does it. “Dude, I don't know,” he replies, then gnaws at his lower lip for a second. “Won't that make me look kinda, y’know…”

“No more so than you leaving yesterday did.”

Tucker glares at him, but only for a moment. It's not like Wash is _wrong_ , after all, and right now they've got bigger things to worry about anyway, so Tucker just pokes Wash in the side and tries to figure out what he's gonna do.

“Okay,” he begins after a while has passed. “Let's do it.”

Washington tilts his head.

“Let's go say hi to your family,” Tucker says determinedly. He forces a confident smile on his face even though he wants nothing more than to run out the house screaming.

“Are you sure?” Wash asks in concern.

“Pshh,” Tucker responds. “Yeah, it's cool. I just have to survive for a couple of hours, right? It’ll be a breeze.” He looks up to see Wash smiling down at him, his expression soft and unexpectedly fond. “Dude, don't look at me like that. I'm not your kid.”

“I'm well aware,” Wash says drily. He slips a hand in Tucker's back pocket, casual in the way that Tucker likes. “Trust me,” he continues, “I don't have any fatherly feelings toward you.”

“That mean you don't want me calling you ‘Daddy?’” Tucker cracks with a smirk, laughing when he sees the face that Washington makes in response. “Whoa, I guess not! That’s alright. I get enough of that from Flowers anyway.”

Washington does a double take. “He does that to you too?”

Tucker scoffs. “Oh, please. He does that to everyone!”

Wash frowns, looking mildly disturbed, as though it were one thing for _him_ to be propositioned, but another thing entirely for everyone else to be. Before he can make a fuss about it, however, Tucker is quick to change the subject.

“So come on already. We have a dinner to start.”

Washington’s face clears. He nods and takes his hand from Tucker’s ass, giving it one last reassuring squeeze that Tucker wholeheartedly appreciates. “Let’s go,” he agrees as he starts walking toward the kitchen. “We might as well get this over with.”

“Now who's making it sound like torture?”

Wash rolls his eyes.

Together, they follow the sounds of a large group of people toward the kitchen, wandering down halls where muffled sounds become increasingly clear the closer they get. What they find when they get to the kitchen, however, leaves both of them stopping in complete shock.

“Doc?” Tucker blurts out. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Doc’s head snaps up in sudden surprise, a smile blossoming over his face when he sees Wash and Tucker standing there. “Oh, Tucker!” he says happily. “Sorry, I didn't hear you two come in.”

Tucker just gapes and turns to the others for an explanation.

“Isn't this wonderful?” Wash’s mom gushes, looking genuinely happy for the first time. “Frank decided to come to town early, so we invited him to dinner!”

Tucker looks around at the bright eyes and beaming faces of a group of people so happy to see Wash’s ex-boyfriend that they can't even contain their own excitement. He looks at them and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to have the same effect.

Somehow, he doubts it.

And when he peeks up at Washington, he only gets a sinking feeling, because the look on Wash’s face mirrors that of his family; not nearly as ecstatic, maybe, but with the same smile on his face he gets when Tucker surprises him at work: pleasantly startled in the best of ways.

“Yeah,” Tucker says hollowly. “This is gonna be great.”

He can hardly fucking wait.

 


End file.
